Guard Your Heart
by gottagetitoutofmyhead
Summary: When Sergeant Spencer Carlin of the US Marine Corps was pulled out of Afghanistan for a special assignment at the White House, she thought life would get easier. Little did she know that nothing would easy about protecting First Daughter Ashley Davies.
1. Chapter 1

Christine Davies, President of the United States, was exhausted and pissed off.

After a long day of shaking hands, kissing babies and sitting in on boring meetings that were way over her head, she should have been catching up on her beauty sleep by now in the Lincoln Bedroom.

Oh how she hated children.

Publicly of course, President Davies loved children. They were the foundation of America, the future of democracy, etcetera, etcetera, and so forth. She'd parroted enough speeches about them to understand that most voters had children and the sheep liked to feel good about their procreation.

Privately, the diaper-bombs that were babies made her want to cringe and she sometimes she wanted to throttle her own offspring. How could they be both the key to her rise to power and the bane of her existence? Lord only knew. Sometimes she could admit to feeling stirrings of pride about Kyla, but Ashley was always a problem and never an asset. Take tonight, as just one example in a sea of disappointment.

Christine shuffled through a few of the debriefs that remain scattered across her desk in the Oval Office, but she wasn't really seeing them.

She was fit to kill those daughters of hers.

Every few moments, her eyes swung up to check the time on a grandfather clock that once belonged to President Eisenhower. The stupid thing had annoyed her during her first few months in office, but three years later she found its incessant ticking to be a comfort – a reminder of the fact that time ticked on as steadily as ever, even if she felt like her time in office was passing her by at ten thousand miles an hour.

It was hard to believe that it was already an election year again. She'd barely had time to settle into the mantle of the presidency and now a handful of young gun Democrats were already campaigning to take her power away from her. Little liberal bitches. At least this time around, her supporters could do most of the campaigning for her and she didn't have to worry about jetting off to a new city every twelve hours.

Her poll numbers were looking good. With a little luck and a scandal or two on the blue side of the aisle, she'd have a second term in the bag.

That was if Ashley didn't manage to destroy everything Christine had ever worked for with a scandal of her own.

She ran her fingers through salt-and-pepper hair (perfectly dyed to keep her looking young but still conveying the wisdom and authority that came with age) before picking up her phone to page her Chief of Staff.

Moments later Kelly Erikson knocked three times before popping her head in through the door that connected her office to the president's.

"Yes Madame President?" Christine could tell that Kelly was as pissed off about the whole situation as she was. Probably more so, since she actually understood the international ramifications of what Ashley had just done. If Christine was the face of conservative America, Kelly was the political know-how.

"Are they back yet?" Christine drummed her perfectly manicured nails on the iconic presidential desk. It was nearly two in the morning. She wanted this whole issue buried as soon as possible, and the president always got what the president wanted. Perk of the job.

Kelly nodded briskly, and smoothed her palms down along her skirt in agitation. "They are just pulling into the garage now. I'll have the Secret Service send them in right away."

"At least the goons can be counted on to get that right." Christine growled, dismissing her assistant with a wave of her hand.

In no time at all, the doors to her office were opening again. This time, instead of her trustworthy Chief of Staff, Christine was faced with the sight of two of her greatest disappointments stumbling to a halt in front of her.

Her younger daughter, Kyla, was obviously drunk. She was swaying even while standing still and was using Ashley's shoulder as an anchor to keep her standing up right. She had a lazy grin on her face and her dark hair was in a wild disarray.

Ashley, on the other hand, was not nearly drunk enough for Christine's liking, given what had transpired that evening. She stood up straight, staring defiantly at her mother, a tiny smirk twitching at the corner of her mouth. For the moment, Christine resisted the urge to smack it off her face.

Ashley's blouse was unbuttoned to the naval, revealing a lacey black and red bra that Christine would have to instruct the White House launders to destroy on sight. There were traces of lipstick along her jaw and neckline, tracing a path to a fresh hickey by her collarbone. Wrapped around her left hand was what looked suspiciously like a hijab.

Wonderful.

The three Davies stood in silence for a moment, waiting to see who would get in the first jabs of the evening. It was Christine who struck first.

"I was under the impression that we all understood the sensitivity of our situation here. Do you have ANY idea what you've just done?" Christine was trying hard to rein in her temper. The doors to the hallway were still open, after all, and it wouldn't do for anyone to hear this conversation.

She stalked around her daughters and firmly closed the sound-proof, bullet-proof doors. Not even the Secret Service on the other side could hear them now. She was tired, she was cranky, and she wanted this whole situation over with as soon as possible. Christine parked herself in front of Ashley and cut to the chase.

"Tell me_ exactly_ what happened tonight. Did you sleep with the Saudi Arabian ambassador's daughter?"

Ashley looked for a moment like she might come up with one of her million dollar excuses, but Kyla managed to cut in first. "Believe me mother, they did anything but sleep."

Ashley somehow both hated and loved her sister in that moment. If there had been any chance that Ashley might have been able to weave this tale into something other than what it was, Kyla had just stomped on it. It was probably for the best. Ashley's mother probably already knew the truth anyway. She wouldn't be surprised if Christine had the CIA stalking them or something. It was better to rip off the band aid and get this over with.

Instead of sighing, Ashley shrugged with feigned nonchalance and let her smirk grow into an all-out grin. She wasn't going to win the war, but she sure as hell could win this battle.

"I just helping introduce a hot young thing to all the best the good old US of A has to offer. And when it comes to our evening activities, I can safely say that I am the best. If you want more details than that, I would be_ more_ than happy to share."

The slap came so fast that Ashley didn't even see it coming. She sure felt it though, and heard the sharp report of the slap echo though the Oval Office. She pressed her own palm to her check instinctually, the pressure easing the sting.

She was always surprised at how hard her mother could hit. With all the political rhetoric, designer clothes, and the best publicist money could buy, it was all too easy to forget that Christine Davies had grown up as trailer park trash on the outskirts of Baltimore. She had only risen to prominence after screwing rock star Raife Davies hard enough to get pregnant with his first-borne child and forcing him into an unhappy marriage.

"This '_alternative lesbian lifestyle'_ experiment of yours has gone on long enough Ashley Marie. I cannot have your exploits coming to light in an election year. You will not ruin this for me! And then there are all of the ties you may have just severed with the Middle East!"

Kyla hiccupped out a laugh. "Can we just take a moment to appreciate how having a gay daughter takes precedence over potentially severing sensitive and newly forged diplomatic ties with a very conservative Saudi royal family on your list of things to worry about?"

Ashley was impressed. Little miss eager-to-please had some feist.

The boldness was short-lived. One look from the president seemed to help sober her up quickly enough. Kyla suddenly took a strong interest in her Jimmy Choos.

Ashley scoffed. "Nothing is going to "come to light" mother. The Saudis will bury this deeper than even _you_ would if they ever found out, which I promise you they won't. Besides, how could_ I_ possibly be a dirty lesbian? Everyone knows Ethan Rayne and I are so _madly_ in love and are just waiting to the right moment to marry. Haven't you already sold MTV the rights to our magical wedding?"

Christine looked like she was ready to strike again – this time with a closed fist. Ashley lost some of her courage when she saw the crazy look in her mother's eyes. She took the smallest of steps backwards and lowered the defiant angle of her chin.

Christine clenched and unclenched her fists. A tiny vein looked fit to burst in her forehead.

"You may not want me for a mother Ashley, and I sure as _hell_ know I would never choose you for a daughter, but that's the way it is and we are stuck together. You are part of the package deal here kid, and if you want the perks of this office or _ever_ want to see that trust fund your father left in my care, you are going to play the role that I've set up for you, so help me God!"

Ashley bristled, but kept quiet. She remembered the deal they had made seven years ago, not long after Raife Davies had died. How could she forget? It forced her to live a lie for most of her adult life.

Following Raife's sudden and untimely death, someone (and Ashley wanted to strangle whoever it was) had made the suggestion that Christine use the attention and pity she was receiving from the public to slingshot herself into a career in politics. A few months after her father's funeral, Ashley's mother was being sworn into office as one of California's newest Congresswomen in the House of Representatives. Two years after that, somehow, incredibly, Ashley was standing on the steps of the White House watching her mother being sworn in as the next President of the United States.

Ashley had to admit, her mother was the perfect politician. She had spent her entire life learning how to tell people what they wanted to hear so that she could get what she wanted. She was a social chameleon who had climbed her way from white trash to the top office in the United States.

Sometimes Ashley suspected that the American public knew exactly what her mother was – that they saw through all of her lies, but that they just didn't care. After years of hard economic times, somehow, almost magically, months after Christine took office, by no action of her own, the economy had boomed. People had roofs over their heads, jobs to head to every morning and food on their plates at dinner every night.

They didn't care if the president was a bitch, as long as she got the job done. And surrounded as she was by the best Republican advisers that money and power could by, Christine Davies managed to get the job done in spite of herself.

Out of the silence following Christine's threat, Kyla started to giggle.

Her sister and mother both turned to glare at her.

"I was just thinking about what Ashley's bachelorette party would be like…" Ashley rolled her eyes, but suppressed a grin. Kyla might be a complete dork most of the time, a political wanna-be who actually enjoyed playing the role of perfect First Daughter, but once you got a little liquor into her, she was more like Ashley than she would ever admit sober and a pretty good sister to boot.

Christine had just raised a menacing finger in Kyla's direction to start on what Ashley knew would be a cringe-inducing bout of verbal abuse when her desk phone rang.

The First Family froze as the phone rang once, twice.

Finally, on the fourth ring, Christine managed to calm herself down enough to answer with a sharp but courteous, "This is the President."

Whoever was on the other end of the phone launched into what sounded like a long report.

"Hold on a second Larry," Christine interrupted, covering the mouthpiece of the phone with her palm. She looked back up to her daughters, glaring. "I have to work on cleaning up your mess. Get out of my sight, the both of you. I'll deal with you more thoroughly in the morning!"

Ashley didn't need to be told twice. She grabbed her sister's elbow and steered her out of the office and in the direction of their suite. She wasn't sure what her mother had in mind for them, but whatever it was, it couldn't be good.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'll be the first to admit that I'm not the President of the United States, nor am I a Marine, so please take all the details with a grain of salt and some friendly suspension of disbelief (especially if you have military experience). This remains a work of fiction **

Nearly 7000 miles away, on the other side of the world, twenty-one year old Sergeant Spencer Carlin was just sitting down to an eagerly anticipated lunch. One of the PFC's in another squad had spread the rumor that there might be ice cream for dessert today. Spencer had been hearing rumors like these for the past eight and a half months, and they had yet to pan out.

On the other hand, in the 102 degree heat of a desert summer, even the mirage of an ice cream sundae was enough to almost remind Spencer of what it felt like to be cool and free of sand. She liked to keep up an optimistic skepticism about these sorts of things.

As she dug into a recently re-hydrated mystery meat sandwich, her best friend Chelsea Lewis plopped down into the seat across from her.

"What a feast!" Chelsea joked, hefting her small sloppy joe in her palm. Rations had been reduced a few days earlier after a supply caravan had been hit some sixty kilometers to the south. "I have no idea how they manage to convince a master chef to come all the way out here to cook for us. I almost don't want to eat this work of art!"

"Shut up Lewis," Spencer grinned at her friend, "You are breaking my concentration. I almost had myself convinced that this was fresh from Five Guys."

"Five Guys? Are you kidding me? The least you could do is imagine that it was from some place decent like In-N-Out."

"West coast burger snob."

"Not my fault you insist on remaining uncultured," Chelsea retorted, "and let's not even pretend that these things are burgers. It's just making me sad."

"Agreed."

A few of the other member of their squad joined them as they ate. The lunch-time conversation revolved around food (as always) and the men had just gotten into a debate about surf-and-turf when they were interrupted by a messenger.

"Sergeant Carlin, Corporeal Lewis, the captain requires your presence in the command tent."

Spencer looked quickly over to Chelsea who had an equally puzzled look on her face. "Consider us on our way," Spencer replied with a nod of dismissal. When the messenger had left the tent, the rest of the squad began to offer suggestions about what the girls might have done to incur the wrath of Captain Martinez as they hurried to clean their plates.

"Lighten up Carlin," Jacobs, a Lance Corporal, told her. "I bet he just wants to meet up for tea and crumpets!"

"Naw, let's be real, this is _Martinez_ we're talking about, I'd bet he wants knitting lessons." That was Siller.

As the suggestions of why Martinez wanted to see her and Chelsea got more and more ridiculous, Spencer tried to laugh along as she swallowed the last of her peas and took a moment to make sure her uniform was neat and squared away.

There was only one thing on her mind. Did Martinez know?

Spencer racked her brain to try and think of another possible reason why the Captain would want to see her and the next highest ranking female officer in her squad – a female officer who was her best friend and with whom she just so happened to spend almost all of her time.

They usually received operational orders from further down the chain of command. In fact, she could only ever remember interacting with Captain Martinez in person a handful of times. There was no way that this summons was a good thing.

As soon as she and Chelsea walked out of the barracks and into the blinding desert sun, Chelsea set to work trying to calm her fears: "Relax Spence, he doesn't know anything. If he did, why would he be summoning the both of us?"

"I don't know, maybe he thinks you're hiding it too? We're together _all _the time Chels, maybe someone suggested something?"

A few years ago, before her training, Spencer Carlin might have wrung her hands and chewed on her lower lip as she battled the butterflies of nerves attacking her stomach. Now there was nothing to outwardly display her discomfort. To the rest of the camp, she was just another Sergeant making her way across camp with one of her fire-team leaders.

But Chelsea knew her better than that.

"I don't care what people think. Gossip spreads faster than the speed of light around here anyway, it's worse than high school. Talk doesn't mean anything. And he can't ask you anything Spencer, not based on rumors. He could try but," Chelsea hesitated, playing out the situation in her mind, "But I won't let him."

Spencer stopped abruptly, and pulled Chelsea to a halt with her by yanking on the elbow of her jacket. "Chelsea Lewis, I refuse to allow you to take the fall for me for anything. Not again."

Chelsea pulled Spencer's hand off her uniform. Spencer knew Chelsea could feel how stiff with tension she was, and so she softened her tone. "You know that's one order that I'm never going to follow Spence. You're my battle buddy, my best friend, and I'm always going to have your back." She took a moment to straighten out her uniform and pasted resolved firmly back on her face. "Especially when you've done absolutely _nothing_ wrong!"

The fact that Chelsea felt that way meant the world to her, but unfortunately, the military didn't see it the same way.

Being a closeted lesbian in the United States Marine Corps meant that Spencer was on edge 24-7, and not just because she was stationed in the heart of a combat zone. Ever since President Christine Davies had signed a bill that essentially put _Don't Ask Don't Tell_ on steroids, Spencer lived in constant fear of being discovered.

Under the new law, which had passed through Congress just days after Spencer had enlisted, being exposed as a homosexual in the military was grounds for more than just a dishonorable discharge. Now outed soldiers, seamen, airmen and marines could be tossed into prison as military criminals and fined massive amounts of money for the purpose of repaying the government the thousands of dollars that had been invested into their training. The new law had destroyed the lives of more than a few marines over the past few years and Spencer was determined not to be next.

She had tried and failed enough times throughout her adolescence to secretly "cure" herself of being gay. After enough time, however, she had accepted who she was and knew there was nothing she could or even wanted to do to change it. She loved the ladies, and there were a lot of people out there who agreed with her that there was nothing wrong with that…

Except for the fact that the Commander-in-Chief's bigoted political agenda was in conflict with her ability to live out her dream.

All Spencer had ever wanted since she was old enough to seriously contemplate her future was to be a Marine just like her grandpa. Her mother's father, Colonel Glen Myers, was Spencer's hero and role model. He had enlisted in the Marine Corps when he was only eighteen years old, ready and willing to defend his country during World War II. He had proved himself in combat during campaigns across the Pacific and was even awarded the Medal of Honor for his actions in the Battle of Iwo Jima. After the war, he stayed with the Marines on active duty, eventually earning a commission and retiring with the rank of Colonel.

Spencer had literally grown up listening to battle tactics as bed time stories and playing war with her older brothers Glen and Clay. While her brothers had followed in their mother's footsteps by enrolling in the US Naval Academy after high school, Spencer had surprised her own family by enlisting in the Marine Corps instead. Her grandpa always said that the best military leaders started from the bottom and worked to earn their stripes in the field rather than in the classroom.

Her plan had been to spend her first five years in the Corps as an enlisted Marine, then go on to Officer's Training School later, if she still felt like she wanted to make a career out of the military. Since President Davies had been elected, however, there was that small matter of being gay in a very gay-unfriendly line of work. Her period as an enlisted marine was now for her to not only to earn respect for the enlisted Marines she might one day command, but also to determine if her heart could handle hiding who she was from all of the people she cared about. Now with only a year left in her active duty service contract, Spencer was considering her future more than ever, and she still hadn't come to a decision.

She just had to hope that it wasn't about to be made for her.

Spencer chose to ignore Chelsea's words of comfort and continued across the camp to the officer's headquarters. After a quick salute to the guards stationed outside the temporary headquarters, the girls were shown inside and directed into the captain's office.

It was time to find out what this was about.

"Have a seat marines," Captain Martinez instructed before sitting behind the portable table that served as his desk. He hastily closed a laptop and pushed it aside so he could focus his attention on fully on the two of them.

"Thank you sir," Spencer replied, sitting stiffly. Chelsea followed her lead. She held herself rigidly still even though her stomach was churning.

She could not read the captain's expression. Like Spencer herself, he was a master of controlling his emotions. She'd always liked that about him – he gave off the impression of always being cool and calm, event in the worst of situations.

"I'm sure you are both wondering why you are here." He leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers across the surface of the desk. "The answer's quite simple: you are being reassigned."

After expecting the worst and playing the situation out in her brain over and over, Spencer was now a little lost.

"Reassigned, sir?" Chelsea asked.

They both had been serving in the 1st Marines Special Operations Battalion together since they had completed boot camp and they were working in the only riffle platoon in the Corps currently carrying out the work they were trained to do: special security combat operations.

Spencer and Chelsea were part of an elite unit of the marines charged with security operations in combat and combat perimeter zones. They protected key political leaders and their families from kidnapping and assassination attempts in an incredibly unstable environment.

Spencer's squad in particular was known for their flawless record of protection for the female family members of Afghan military leaders and politicians. Their rifle platoon was nicknamed the "Guardians of Freedom," and they wore the title with pride. Reassignment, therefore, came with the implication of demotion.

"Yep," the Captain confirmed, "And it's gonna be a bitch to replace you. Orders came from the higher-ups, though, so it's pretty much out of my hands."

Spencer was still on edge. She waited for him to explain himself. 'Why?' was a word that didn't really exist in the vocabulary of a Marine, but that didn't mean she did not want to know more about what was going on.

"You are both being transferred to Washington for a security detail - a special request."

This did not exactly make a lot of sense to Spencer, but she was counting her blessings. It was not clear that DADT had nothing to do with what was going on here. She let out a breath she did not realize she had been holding. Now she was more confused than afraid.

There were a few Marine camps in Washington state that Spencer knew of, but why Washington of all places? It was pretty much the exact opposite of Afghanistan – not that she would complain about finally seeing some clouds or rain.

"You are to both pack up your things and be ready for transport at 23:00 hours. You'll be landing at Bolling Air Force Base, where you will be directed to report to Colonel David Michaels at the White House."

She had definitely been thinking about the wrong Washington. Apparently they were talking about the capital.

Washington, DC? The White House?

The only security detail Spencer knew about for a Marine at the White House was work as a Marine Sentry. The position was basically one of a glorified doorman. Whenever the president was present in the West Wing, a team of four marines took shifts standing ceremonial guard outside the entrance to the wing. Spencer seriously doubted that she and Chelsea were being pulled off active duty in Afghanistan to go open doors. To be sure, it was an honor to be asked to serve the Commander-in-Chief directly, but Spencer liked the job she had now and she was good at it.

Not to mention she was not Christine Davies' biggest fan. If she had to see the evil queen's face every single day…

A quick glance over at Chelsea told Spencer that her friend was just as unsettled by this news as she was. Captain Martinez laughed a little at their reaction. "I wish I could tell you more, I'm just as curious about what the heck this is all about, but that's all I know." He stood up and Spencer and Chelsea immediately rose to join him. He extended his hand first to Spencer, then to Chelsea, shaking them firmly.

"It's been an honor serving with you Sergeant Carlin, Corporeal Lewis. You'd best gather your things and say your goodbyes. The ride out to the transport is going to take a few hours, so you'll need to leave as soon as possible."

As soon as they were dismissed and out of earshot of any superiors, Chelsea voiced what Spencer had been thinking for the past five minutes: "What the hell?"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Maybe it's time for our girls to meet…**

* * *

Spencer did not get much sleep on the noisy transport plane so she had a lot of time to wonder what exactly she had gotten herself into.

Chelsea, on the other hand, seemed much less concerned about the details. She passed out soon after takeoff and, in her words, "If air-conditioning and indoor plumbing are involved, I really can't complain."

There was Chelsea for you: always the optimist.

Spencer took advantage of the internet access on the plane to send off a few quick emails to her family about her change of assignment - what little she knew about it. She was unsurprised when her father responded within minutes saying how happy he was that she would be back on American soil and out of harm's way.

Though Spencer's sense of time was a little thrown off by their flight plan, she was pretty sure that her father had probably just arrived at work. He was a social worker in Detroit, and his second favorite activity (after worrying about his only daughter) was writing long and affectionate emails.

This one was no exception and Spencer couldn't help but smile at the Garfield comic strip he attached to the end of the email. The two of them had a long standing joke about lasagna, which happened to be both Garfield's and Spencer's favorite food.

She hoped that she would be able to see her dad soon. With a position in Washington, it was possible that she might even be able to fly home for a weekend to see him and her mother. It had been a long eight months since she had seen any of her family outside of video chat on a laptop screen.

Maybe Chelsea was right. One thing was for sure: whatever their new assignment was, it had to be easier than their old one. Safer too.

After a layover in Germany, Chelsea and Spencer finally stepped off the transport plane at Bolling Air Force Base sometime around sunset the next day. They were met on the airstrip by what appeared to be the only man on the entire base not wearing a uniform. He was holding a small sign with "Carlin & Lewis" written on it. He looked more than a little out of place.

"I guess we're in the right spot," Chelsea laughed as they both hoisted their bags onto their shoulders and made their way over the man in the suit.

"Sergeant Carlin and Corporal Lewis, I presume?" he asked.

"Reporting for duty," Spencer agreed, giving the man a once over.

He was tall with dark hair and even darker sunglasses. Black suit, black tie, black shoes. The light breeze along the airstrip lifted his jacket just enough for her to see a 9 millimeter handgun strapped into a holster by his ribs and Spencer was pretty sure that his short curls were hiding an ear piece from sight. He was definitely some sort of private security.

The man looked back and forth between them before giving them a nod and removing his sunglasses.

"I'm Agent Dennison. I'll be giving you a ride to the White House." He turned around and gestured for them to follow him towards a black SUV that was parked a short distance away.

"I take it you don't work for Colonel Michaels then," Spencer guessed as they tossed their things into the trunk of the immaculately clean vehicle.

"Not directly," Agent Dennison confirmed.

"Can you tell us anything about this new assignment?" Chelsea asked, sliding into the back seat next to Spencer.

"I am afraid the details will fall to Colonel Michaels, but what I _can_ say is that you'll have your work cut out for you." Spencer almost thought Agent Dennison might be laughing at them, the way his eyes were crinkled up in the rear view mirror.

"I'm sure it's nothing we can't handle," Spencer challenged back, glaring back at him. She wasn't sure she liked his attitude.

"I guess we'll see about that. Understand that I mean no offense. May God have mercy on your souls." After his dark laughter calmed down, the rest of the ride was completed in silence.

The last time that Spencer had been to Washington was when she was thirteen years old. Thanks to her mother's recent promotion to Rear Admiral, her family had been invited to attend a Thanksgiving celebration for military families at the Pentagon.

The function itself had been rather boring, but the time she had spent with her family wandering through the Smithsonian Museums and taking ridiculous photos at every monument they saw was one of Spencer's favorite memories.

Everything seemed to be just as she remembered. Watching the sun set behind the Washington Monument through the tinted window of the SUV made Spencer smile. This city was one of her favorite places in the whole world and despite Agent Dennison's uncomfortable warning, Spencer had a feeling that her life was about to change for the better.

And anyway, she had never been one to shy away from a challenge.

Seeing the White House on the back of a twenty dollar bill was one thing, but actually going through the gates and up the driveway was quite another.

"Wow," Chelsea breathed next to her as they pulled to a stop at the back of the iconic building.

Agent Dennison laughed again, but this time in a much more friendly way. "That feeling never gets old."

He had them leave their bags just inside the door and led them a short way into the lower level of the building before knocking on an impressive-looking solid oak door.

Moments later a short, graying gentleman wearing the khaki service uniform of a Marine Colonel opened the door. Spencer and Chelsea snapped to attention.

"Ah, Agent Dennison, you're early. Excellent! I might actually making home for dinner on time for once! Come in, come in!" He gave the girls the customary salute and opened the door wider, and gesturing for them to have a seat. Agent Dennison chose to remain standing behind them near the door as Colonel Michaels returned to his own seat behind the enormous mahogany desk.

The aging colonel flashed them a toothy smile from behind a bushy gray mustache. "Sergeant Carlin, Corporal Lewis, thank you both for coming here on such short notice, though I suppose I should thank your commanding officers as I suspect you just go where you're told!" The old man chuckled, and Spencer decided that she liked him.

He was straight forward and did not speak to them as if they were scum on the bottom of his shoe, which is more than Spencer could say for many aging Marine officers who were long distanced from their own days at the bottom of the military hierarchy. He even reminded her a little of her grandfather.

"Not a problem sir," Spencer replied, "Just doing our jobs."

"Yes, yes, well I'm sure you are at least wondering why you are here, eh?"

Spencer and Chelsea nodded their confirmation.

"Well, you've been selected for a very important and very unusual assignment."

* * *

"We are in such deep shit!" a now sober Kyla Davies whined next to her sister as they made their way from the Presidential living quarters in the East Wing down to the Oval Office. President Christine Davies only handled official business in the iconic office, and more often than not, she counted her family dealings as official business.

"Gee, you think?" Ashley asked sarcastically. She did not want to go into the office either, but at least this was a small break from the house arrest that their mother had imposed on them since "the incident" two nights before.

The sisters paused in unison in front of the double doors that led to the Office. Just off to the side, Sean, one of President Davies' security detail agents stood at ease. Ashley figured that he was watching them from behind his aviators, but you never could be sure with those Secret Service types.

Ashley pushed Kyla a little in front. "You go first, you're the golden child."

"What?!" Kayla scoffed, "Why me? You're the one who got us into this mess in the first place!"

"Keep it down, idiot," Ashley whispered fiercely. The last thing they needed was to draw their mother's attention out to the corridor. She would accuse them of making a scene… well another one. "And I don't seem to recall _forcing_ you to do anything!"

"Yeah well I don't seem to recall you telling me that it was all for a freaking _booty call_!"

Ashley paused. Kid sister did have a point – not that she would admit it.

She may or may not have convinced her sister that the two of them had needed a girls' night out. And then she may or may not have concocted a scheme to ditch their Secret Service agents in a movie theatre bathroom. And later she may or may not have proceeded to ditch Kyla once they arrived at the club in favor of her new Saudi Arabian 'friend'. But really, that was all semantics.

She reached for the handle of the door, pushing it open the slightest bit before catching Kyla by the elbow and slingshotting her into the office first.

Time to face the beast.

* * *

Colonel Michaels folded his hands atop the desk before continuing on.

"Due to several recent events, the President has expressed concern over the safety of her two daughters. You will be filling in a recently-identified security gap here at the White House by serving as the Davies girls' regular body guards. The Secret Service has found that they have difficulties meeting the… unique demands of the task." There was a hint of humor in the Colonel's voice and Spencer felt like she was missing out on a joke. She made a mental note to catch up on all of the national news she had missed over the past few months.

Though the age of high speed internet meant that soldiers in the field were not as disconnected from home as they had been only a decade earlier, Spencer tended to use her free time to communicate with family or distract herself with episodes of a favorite sitcom rather than to read about politics. Clearly she was a little out of touch.

"Sir, if I may?" Chelsea asked, waiting for a nod of approval before she continued: "I was under the impression that the personal security of the President and her family was under the jurisdiction of the Secret Service, not the Marine Corps. Am I to understand they are no longer capable of doing their job?"

Agent Dennison, who Spencer now realized was probably a Secret Service agent, noticeably bristled at the question and Spencer contained a grin.

"That would be correct," Colonel Michaels confirmed, sharing the joke, "However, as I mentioned, this would be a special case. President Davies _specially_ requested female, active duty Marines for this particular detail. I think it is safe to say that she figured we were the only way the job would be carried out to her high standards. General Amos obliged her by collecting the profiles of suitable Marines for the position and his staff ultimately suggested the two of you."

Spencer found it hard to breathe for a moment. General Amos was one of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and Commandant of the United States Marine Corp. The fact that he knew who they were was both terrifying and an honor.

"So you are saying that the two of us have been hand-selected to provide personal security to the President's daughters?" Chelsea asked in disbelief.

"That's the short of it," the Colonel confirmed. He gave them a moment to let the knowledge sink in.

* * *

"Are you serious?!" Ashley asked, feeling genuinely insulted. "Marines?!"

President Davies ignored her eldest daughter's outburst but could not resist the urge to roll her eyes. "That's right." It was nice watching Ashley squirm for a change.

"What the heck? Are you trying to make us even bigger freaks than we already are?" Ashley was fuming. There may have even been a little steam coming out of her ears. Christine though the image might make a nice Christmas card. Pity she didn't have her phone on her to snap a photo.

"Mom, Marines are _bit_ over the top, don't you think?" There was Kyla, obviously trying to take a more diplomatic approach. "Why can't we just get some new Secret Service agents?"

Ashley shut up to let her sister do the talking – she always got better results where their mother was concerned.

"We've tried that before, _many_ times, and yet you still always manage to scare them away or get them fired. Curious isn't it? It's almost like you enjoy making my life a living hell." Christine leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers together.

"Those are some strong words," Kyla agreed, trying to get on Christine's good side, "And I could see how you might think that, but really, there have just been a lot of… of _misunderstandings_."

"Misunderstandings?" Christine asked menacingly. "Is that how you are referring to your exploits now? I had to fire your last pair of agents for letting you escape and run wild around Dupont Circle with a certain ambassador-who-will-not-be-named's daughter." Kyla winced, but before she could respond to the accusation, Christine when on.

"The pair before _that_ is currently putting together a rather convincing sexual harassment lawsuit against a certain White House resident would not shut up about her 'sexual prowess and stamina,'" she looked rather pointedly at Ashley, "And need I mention that we are _still _negotiating to get the pair before _them_ out of Nigerian prison where they ended up for protecting you two from a bar fight you started?"

"No, no, I think we can all agree that perhaps there have been some poor choices in the past…" Kyla conceded, ducking her head.

Ashley realized that the ball was back in her court. "Christine, Marines are like big, beefy robots. There is no way I am going to have some gorilla with an assault rifle following me around campus this year!" She crossed her arms across her chest.

"Ashley, you have left me no choice. Bring the President comes with certain perks and one of those happens to be the title of Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces. I've talked it over with my staff, and I think we've found the perfect team to deal with the two of you. They are highly trained, highly disciplined – and best of all - they can't quit. That's the end of the story."

"_Mother…"_

"That's the end! Now go to your rooms! I have things to do. Your new body guards will be reporting to you before your classes in the morning. I'm sure that you will find them suitable – and if you don't, I don't want to hear about it!"

That was a dismissal, and one that sounded oddly like they were still in high school. Ashley sighed loudly before following her sister out of the office. This was not the end of this argument, not if she had anything to say about it.

"This is going to ruin my social life," Kyla lamented as they trudged back toward their suite at the other end of the White House. "Marines?"

Ashley scoffed, determined not to let Christine get the best of them. "Honestly, why the hell will they be any different? It'll be the same as it's always been – two mindless drones following us around and trying to tell us what to do. Different uniform, maybe, but nothing we can't handle."

"I don't know," Kyla replied, "Mom sounded a little too confident about this whole thing. And maybe we have been a_ little_ reckless in the past…"

Ashley stopped and put her hands up, blocking her sister's path. "Kyla, we are two _fine_ young women in the_ prime_ of our lives. Christine signed up for all of this presidential crap – we didn't. Why should we have to squander our youth tucked away in the dusty corners of this old house, tatting lace or whatever the hell it is Christine thinks proper young ladies should be doing? We should be free to live our lives. This is America, for god's sake. Give me liberty or give me death!"

"How patriotic of you," Kyla deadpanned.

"I'm just saying we have a right to live the way we please. It's not as if we're interfering with the functioning of the country. I just want to be left alone! Is that really so much to ask, considering all that I've already given up for her?"

Kyla bit her lip, hearing the frustration in her sister's words. Though both were forced to play the roles of clean-nosed, doting first daughters whenever there was a camera or politician in sight (as per the terms of their contract), Ashley was forced to hide much more of herself than Kyla ever had to. Kyla suspected that half of the reason why Ashley rebelled and toed the line as much as she did was because their mother refused to acknowledge that her eldest daughter was gay.

It was as clear as day to anyone who had ever met Ashley in person that she loved the ladies, but it was never spoken of or written about and Ashley was careful to never obviously displayed her preferences in public. It was part of their deal with their mother. It wouldn't do for the Republican Party's staunchest opponent of gay rights to be exposed as the mother of Washington's most eligible lesbian.

Kyla wasn't exactly sure how her mother had managed to keep knowledge of Ashley's sexuality out of the press and away from her political opponents. It probably had something to do with Ashley's long-term and very public boyfriend (read: beard) Ethan Rayne, and mountains of confidentiality agreements signed by Ashley's numerous conquests.

Kyla knew it killed Ashley to hide such an important part of herself, and she made her distaste for her mother's political aspirations well known – at least within their circle. Baiting the Secret Service was one of her favorite forms of revenge.

"What are you suggesting then?" Kyla asked her sister as they started walking again.

"Let's get rid of them, one way or another." Ashley replied. "There is no way I am going to spend my senior year at Georgetown towing around my own personal 'Army of One'. I need you with me on this Kyla."

Kyla sighed, feeling like they were getting too old for these games they played with their mother. She finally nodded her agreement. "I'm with you."

Davies girls stuck together. When she really stopped to think about it, Ashley was the only person she knew who loved her unconditionally. She'd always have her sister's back, even if it was in ridiculous schemes carried out solely for the annoyance of their mother.

"Secret handshake?" Ashley asked as they paused at the door outside their suite.

"What are we, five?" Kyla asked, laughing at the fact that her sister still insisted on sealing their deals this way.

"You are never too old for the secret handshake," Ashley admonished. Kyla rolled her eyes, but still spit into her palm and slapped her sister's hand three times while snapping twice with her other hand.

"We'll have these new Secret Service wanna-be's packing by tomorrow night, just you wait and see."

"All right," Kyla relented, "But we are going to have to bring our A-game."

* * *

"Sir, if I may?" Spencer asked hesitantly.

The colonel nodded as he folded his hands back on top of the desk. "Proceed."

"Why us sir?"

"Many reasons. First, you are two highly trained, battle-tested, and decorated Marines. You both have exemplary service records and were highly recommended by your commanding officers. Your role in the protection of President Ali's daughters from insurgent forces last year did not go unnoticed. Marines are typically not trained for private security, but you two have the experience and have proved yourself under extraordinary circumstances."

"Second, you are women. The president specifically requested female Marines for this particular assignment, due to certain difficulties the first family has experienced with Secret Service agents in the past." Spencer and Chelsea shared a quick look. The Colonel leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Let's just say that the Davies sisters have a habit of mysteriously disappearing after routine trips to the restroom." He settled back into his chair.

"Third, you are young. The President's daughters are about your age and it was my belief that you will perhaps be better able to relate to the young Davies and anticipate issues that older Marines might not foresee."

Spencer had to acknowledge that the Colonel had a point there. She was only twenty one and Chelsea had just turned twenty. Though each of them had over three years of active military experience and training, they were still ultimately kids. The elder members of their squad never let them forget it.

"Though the assignment is quite unusual, I do not think I need to tell you that this may be the most important assignment you will ever receive. The security of the President's daughters directly influences the security of the President, and in turn the security of the United States."

"Yes sir," Chelsea and Spencer replied, almost in unison. Spencer still did not quite believe this was happening.

Colonel Michaels gestured to the agent standing by the door, summoning him forward. "This is Agent Aiden Dennison, whom you have already met. He is in charge of the security detail for the presidential family while they are in the White House. Though you will be officially answering to me, because you will be living and working here in the White House you will refer to Agent Dennison or his superior Special Agent Walker, for your orientation and for the details your security role."

The colonel rose stiffly from his seat (which Spencer now realized probably belonged to Special Agent Walker, as his was the name etched into the nameplate sitting on the desk), and nodded. "I leave you in Aiden's capable hands, but remind you that you will have certain autonomy here in your position."

He put a hand on each of their shoulders, giving a gentle, fatherly squeeze. "Show these Secret Service types how Marines get the job done."

* * *

The next morning, Ashley was just getting to the good part of her morning latte when a sharp knock sounded at the door of her and Kyla's suite.

She rolled her eyes. It was far too early for visitors. She ignored it.

The person on the other side of the door seemed to have other ideas. They knocked again, this time louder and more forcefully. It did nothing for Ashley's morning mood.

"Ash, you gonna get that!?" Kyla called from the bathroom where she was putting some final touches on her makeup.

"No." Ashley replied, flipping through another page of her history syllabus.

The knock came again. This time it sounded like someone was shoving a battering ram against the door. Ashley rubbed her temple with her free hand. This day was not off to a good start.

Kyla came rushing into the kitchen area. "God Ash, how lazy can you get!" She breezed by and answered the door, mid thump.

Surprise, surprise. It was Special Agent Walker, Ashley's oh-so-favorite person in the world.

"Ladies," Agent Walker greeted them with a stoic nod. If he expected an exchange of pleasantries, he definitely did not get them. "Can we come in?"

"No." Ashley growled into her coffee. Special Agent Walker's voiced grated her nerves. It was like a mix of the Governator and Batman.

"Sorry about her, yes, come in," Kyla replied, pulling the door open wide.

"I'd like to introduce you to your new security detail." Walker beckoned through the door and two young women came forward to stand just behind him

Ashley nearly spewed her coffee over her books. "They're chicks!"

"They're…_young_." Even Kyla was surprised.

"How observant of you," Special Agent Walker replied through gritted teeth. "May I introduce Sergeant Carlin and Corporeal Lewis of the United States Marine Corp. Sergeant Carlin has been assigned to you Ashley, and Corporeal Lewis has been assigned to Kyla."

Ashley stood up and walked around the table to get a better look at the newcomers. She felt Kyla following close behind. Corporal Lewis was a short, muscular black girl with no nonsense brown eyes. Sergeant Carlin was taller, lean and white. Ashley thought she saw a trace of blond hair sticking out of the side of her uniform cap.

Both were wearing rather bland tan colored uniforms – unflattering polyester pants, awkwardly fitting tapered blouses, distinctly military hats and shiny black man shoes. Not exactly America's best dressed list. Ashley couldn't believe she would have to be seen in public with these two. So much for keeping a low profile.

"Huh," Ashley muttered, not quite sure what to make of this development. She leaned forward and poked the one named Carlin's arm. She was moderately relieved to find that though she appeared to have a rather rock-solid bicep, she was not made of metal. The way the two girls were standing, all rigid blank-expressioned, Ashley had been a little worried that maybe they were robots. She wouldn't put it past her mother. With all that funding she had talked Congress into giving the military, who knew what the heck they had in their arsenal?

She turned to Kyla. "They won't last a week."

Kyla rolled her eyes at her sister's game, but played along with her anyway. "Five days tops."

Agent Walker coughed to hide a growl. "Yes, well I will leave you in their capable hands." He made a quick escape back through the door.

Ashley and Kyla took a moment to stare at their new bodyguards.

"Well, this will be interesting," Kyla muttered before breaking away to grab her backpack. "Come on, Corporal Lewis is it?" Chelsea gave a slight nod. "We'd better get going. I don't want to be late for class." Kyla made her way out the door and her new shadow followed close behind, but not before Ashley saw her shoot her companion a stealthy smirk.

Ashley chose to spend a few more minutes inspecting her newest accessory. She circled her a few times, and then proceeded to stare at her for a while. The girl stared right back, seemingly unphased.

Ashley couldn't help but notice how blue her eyes were. It was the only spot of color in her dreary ensemble, aside from a few of the bars that decorated the chest of her otherwise hideous uniform. She seemed to have a lot of them for someone so young.

"I have class in twenty, you ready to go?" Ashley asked.

The Marine nodded once in reply.

"You sure, you don't need a bathroom break or anything?"

The Marine shook her head.

"Really? You should always go before you leave, it's just good practice." This time the Marine did not respond at all.

Damn, this girl was uptight.

"I think you and I are going to get along real swell." Ashley told her innocently.

The Marine responded with a raised eyebrow, as if to say, "I think not." Ashley had to hold back a laugh, and turned back to her coffee to hide a smirk.

Maybe there was a spark of life in there after all.

"Well, all righty then Sarge, let's get this show on the road." Ashley conceded, lazily slinging her tote over her shoulder.

"Sergeant." Carlin corrected. She seemed to immediately regret saying anything at all when she saw the smirk on Ashley's face.

"You got it _Sarge_!" Ashley replied with a mischievous grin. "And here I thought maybe you were mute!"

She knew she had hit a nerve and she was now going to jackhammer it whenever it tickled her fancy. Which was pretty much right now.

"If you want, I could call you by your first name instead." She squinted at the name patch on the Marine's uniform. It read_ S_. _Carlin_.

"I bet I can guess what that S stands for. Is it Sarah? You look like you could be a Sarah."

"No." Carlin responded gruffly. Ashley was going to enjoy this. She pushed her way past the Marine and out into the hallway. The bodyguard was forced to follow.

"Is it Samantha? I could see you as a Sam. Sammy. The Samanthanator." She let the words roll off her tongue. She could do this all day long and there was no respite in sight for the tightlipped Marine.

Ashley thought she heard the girl sigh behind her. Fuel for the fire. This was going to be too easy.

"Is it Shaniqua?"

_Yeah_, Spencer thought, a few steps behind her, my name is obviously _Shaniqua_. Did this girl ever shut up?

It was going to be long day.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hot off the presses, so apologizes for any errors. Maybe Ashley and Spencer just need some time to adjust to one another…**

* * *

Even before the presidential SUV pulled to a complete stop outside of Darnall Hall on Georgetown's campus, Ashley was already unbuckled and out the door.

"See ya later Big Willy," she called to the chauffer. She didn't bother saying goodbye to her sister. Kyla was already rushing off to the other side of campus for her European Politics class, her new bodyguard following closely behind. Kyla liked to get to lecture early to get a good seat, the nerd. They would see each other again for lunch in a few hours anyway.

Waiting at her usual bench beside the driveway was Ashley's best friend Madison Duarte. Madison was dressed like she was going to a cocktail party instead of class, as per usual.

"What's with the army chick?" The Latina asked, standing up and adjusting a skirt that was probably too short to actually be considered an article of clothing. She rushed awkwardly in her signature three inch heels to match Ashley's pace.

Ashley glanced back to confirm that Carlin was indeed still a few feet behind her, despite the large crowd of coeds that shuffled along Georgetown's walkways between morning classes.

"New day, new pain in my ass. GI Jane here is Christine's latest technique in torture-parenting." Ashley rolled her eyes. She was sure Carlin was close enough to hear her. She flung a hand over her shoulder, gesturing to the marine. "Madison Duarte, meet Sergeant Shannon Carlin, my newest stalker. Shannando, meet Madison." She made a note to take it easy on the S-names, or she was going to run out.

"What happened to Eddy?" The Latina asked dreamily, sparing the new bodyguard little more than a cursory glance, "He was _sex-y_. I'd let him guard my body any time…"

Ashley laughed. Madison's blatant advances on her awkward and married former bodyguard had always been the highlight of her morning. He had physically squirmed in discomfort. It was fun to watch. A quick glance back at the marine behind her confirmed that Carlin remained unruffled. "From what I understand, he's seeking new career opportunities. I think my lifestyle was a little too fast paced for him."

"Girl, your lifestyle is a little too fast-paced for _everyone_." Ashley laughed along with Madison.

"Gotta move fast to keep ahead of those guys," Ashley gestured to the group of paparazzi who were fighting to get their telephoto lenses through a small opening in the gate that separated the private property of Georgetown from the very public sidewalk outside. The chancellor kept them off campus, but he couldn't ward them off completely.

Madison shrugged, not so subtly fixing her hair and adjusting her top. "If you are gonna be seen, you might as well look good." Ashley rolled her eyes. Madison loved to be photographed. She was an aspiring actress and was always aware of where the cameras were.

Madison's unapologetically real and honest attitude were part of what had brought the two together as friends in the first place. When Ashley first moved to Washington and started college as a freshman, her mother had just been elected president. She had been accustomed to some limelight as Raife Davies daughter, and a little more as the daughter of a Congresswoman, but nothing had prepared her for the constant scrutiny of being a First Daughter.

Ashley hated fake people with a fiery passion and during her first few weeks at Georgetown she had been surrounded by nothing but fame-seekers and wannabes who pretended to be nice to her in the hopes of winning an invite to the White House and meeting the president. She and Kyla had stuck mostly to themselves after several failed attempts to find decent human beings to hang out with, but with Kyla still in her senior year of high school, Ashley was left to fend for herself on campus.

By some miracle of alphabetical order, Ashley had been paired with Madison as partners in Biology 101 lab. Unlike everyone else on campus, Madison had been one hundred percent up front about how much she enjoyed the attention of working and studying with _the_ Ashley Davies. On top of that, she had a diva attitude and could hold her own in a verbal sparring match. She never tried to kiss up to Ashley or fake nice.

For Ashley, it was like a breath of fresh air and what had started out as a volatile and tenuous lab partnership had developed into the only real friendship Ashley had managed to make since she was sixteen years old.

It also didn't hurt that the girl could keep up with her at the club and not only did Madison not care that Ashley was gay but she was also willing to help her keep the deep, dark Davies family secret.

Ashley tried to pay attention as Madison launched into a riveting tale about how the lady at the mall had nearly destroyed one of her eyebrows during her last wax, but she became more than a little distracted by the girl walking in front of them instead. Really, how was she supposed to pay attention to anything when girls were running around wearing leggings as pants? The tight, thin material left no curves to the imagination.

"Ash, stop staring at that girl's ass and at least pretend to listen to me!" Madison whined.

"Sorry, sorry," Ashley laughed. Madison always seemed to have a sixth sense for when people were ignoring her.

Out of her peripheral vision, she just managed to catch the look of surprise that flickered across Sergeant Carlin's face before it settled back into its normal neutral expression. The reaction distracted Ashley again from whatever the heck it was that her friend was going on about.

Was little Miss All-America looking the tiniest bit surprised and uncomfortable? Apparently mommy-dearest and the rest of the goon squad had failed to warn the marine about her "condition."

Ashley knew that people who joined the military tended to be a little more conservative than the average American. She also knew that the military was an extraordinarily anti-gay organization – especially since her mother had become Commander-in-Chief. In fact, there was an excellent chance that the good little Marine behind her probably viewed homosexuality as akin to the bubonic plague.

Christine had suggested that Marines had to follow orders and that they couldn't just quit until their enlistment contracts had expired. But surely they had _some_ voice in their activities. Maybe they could even request a reassignment if they felt like they were unable to carry out the job they were assigned to…

A plan was quickly forming in Ashley's head. It used some of her best talents and all of her finest assets. On top of it all, it actually promised to be kind of fun.

Carlin didn't know what she was in for.

* * *

By the time Spencer had been unceremoniously introduced to the third professor of the morning, she was almost used to being treated like a non-person. Most of the teachers had given her a sort of sympathetic nod of welcome, as if they were more than familiar with the strings that came attached to dealing with Ashley Davies.

Spencer had to wonder how they managed to look so worn down already. It was only the third week of the fall semester.

After Ashley led them to two empty seats at the very back of the small lecture hall, Spencer had taken a moment to survey the environment for any threats. By the time she turned her attention back to Ashley, the girl had face-planted down onto her desk and by her even breathing, Spencer could tell that she was asleep.

Now sure, Spencer thought that the History of Medieval European Music sounded like a pretty boring subject, but she wasn't the one shelling out fifty thousand dollars a year for scheduled nap times. Ashley had shown some signs of life in her first two classes, even asking an annoyingly irrelevant question or two, but this one apparently wasn't worth her time.

Spencer guessed that money wasn't an issue for the Davies family. When Christine Davies had run for election almost four years ago, though Spencer wasn't old enough to vote she had paid some attention to the race. She knew that Christine was the widow to a very successful rock and roll legend, Raife Davies. The man's estimated net worth was in the hundreds of millions. That legacy was partially how she had funded her campaign and was most certainly how Ashley managed to have the most expensive looking outfit and bag in a sea of rather well-off looking private school college students.

After giving the coeds in the surrounding seats one last careful once-over to check for any obvious threats and mumbling an 'all clear' through her earpiece to the auxiliary Secret Service back-up team outside, Spencer turned her attention back to the professor lecturing at the front.

Was he seriously using an overhead projector? Spencer hadn't known those things even still existed.

She listened to him rattle on for a few minutes about the differences between minstrels and troubadours before she reassessed her initial criticism of Ashley. Maybe she had the right idea after all, though who in their right mind would sign up for a class like this in the first place?

Spencer's eyes drifted over to her sleeping charge. She took the opportunity to freely look at Ashley for the first time since they had met. She was actually quite beautiful, when she wasn't rolling her eyes or screwing up her face in some sort of ridiculous expression of superiority. Petit too, for someone who talked so big, and surprisingly in shape for someone who led what appeared to be a fairly sedentary lifestyle (if her midmorning snooze was any indication).

She was dressed in what Spencer could best describe as "rocker chic" – red leather jacket, band tee-shirt, ripped up designer jeans and motorcycle boots. Her look certainly matched her attitude.

Suddenly, Ashley's eyes snapped open at just the wrong moment and Spencer realized that she had been caught staring.

"Like what you see sexy?" Ashley whispered suggestively, dragging her tongue across her upper lip.

Spencer stifled a scoff and resisted rolling her eyes. She turned her attention back to the professor at the front as he shuffled through a few of his overheads. He was more interesting anyway and much less annoying.

* * *

A few hours later found Spencer and Chelsea walking the Davies sisters back to their suite.

"We're going to study with some friends later." Ashley declared over her shoulder, "We'll be leaving around eleven, so be ready to whisk us away, won't you Sarge?" She didn't wait for an answer. Instead she waggled her fingers in what Spencer assumed was supposed to be a cute wave and slammed the door in her face.

"Sarge?" Chelsea questioned with a raised eyebrow. They turned together and began the short walk upstairs to their apartment.

"Apparently," Spencer sighed.

"Does she realize that that's not a thing for Marines?"

"Oh, I get the impression that she knows," Spencer resisted rolling her eyes. They made their way down the hall towards their own small apartment.

The place had come pre-furnished with some cookware, beds, a television, and a large comfortable couch, which Spencer promptly collapsed into. She was mentally if not physically exhausted after the first day of their assignment. The jet lag from their day-long journey from the other side of the world wasn't helping either.

"I love college!" Chelsea gushed as she plopped down next to her friend. She pulled off her cover and ran her fingers excitedly though her braids.

"Oh yeah?" Spencer encouraged her to go on with a small smile.

"Yes! I can't wait until I can apply. It was like high school, except better! Everyone actually chose to be there! And you can pick the classes you want to take! Kyla's in mostly boring stuff – politics and all that – but she's in an art history class and English literature!"

Spencer laughed at Chelsea's obvious glee. She was glad _she_ at least had had a good day.

Unlike Spencer, Chelsea had never entertained the idea of making a career in the Marines. She was as proud as any other marine, but her service was more a means to an end – that end being a college degree.

She had joined the Corp as a way to pay for college. Sometimes Spencer forgot just how smart Chelsea was. She wasn't the type to show it off, but she really was brilliant. Chelsea had enlisted when she was seventeen, substituting a high school diploma with a GED.

A lot of people who didn't know much about the military assumed that the Marine Corp was a last resort career option for high school drop outs. In reality it was nearly impossible to enlist without at least decent grades and four years of high school. Chelsea was a rare exception to this rule – her strong academic record, clean background and surprising emotional maturity for her age had convinced her recruiters that she could cut it as a seventeen year old recruit. She and Spencer had been the youngest recruits at boot camp and thus had become fast friends.

Chelsea was using her enlistment contract to save up money. The GI Bill would pay for her education once she completed the terms of her active duty contract, and she would still have a small income to support her during school from her status in the Ready Reserves.

Chelsea wanted to be an artist and had dreams of working in art therapy. Spencer couldn't think of a better job for her best friend. She was a good security officer and a good marine, but her heart belonged to the arts. During their time in Afghanistan, sometimes Spencer thought that the only beauty within a hundred miles of whatever patch of desert they were camped out in lived in Chelsea's sketchpad.

"I could be sitting in a UCLA classroom in less than a year!" Chelsea exclaimed, marveling at the thought. "Well, that is if I get in."

Spencer swung a pillow at her friend's head. "Of course you are going to get in, idiot. Your SAT scores are incredible!" Spencer knew it too, she had helped her friend study and they had celebrated together last year when her scores came in.

"Maybe, but there's also that small matter of making it to the end of our contracts alive."

In unison, Spencer and Chelsea tapped their closed fists against their hearts. It was a practice they had started with the rest of their unit during their first deployment, a combination superstition and good luck ward that they performed whenever anyone mentioned death. Dying young was a reality on the ground in Afghanistan, as it still was now.

Chelsea and Spencer both knew when they had been assigned this job that they would be responsible for putting themselves between the president's daughters and any threat. They were much safer now than they had ever been in Afghanistan, but neither of them was taking any chances. It was better just to knock on wood, so to speak.

"And we will," Spencer promised. "I've got your back, and you've got mine." She nudged Chelsea playfully with her shoulder. "…so long as Ashley's music theory classes don't bore me to tears!" Chelsea laughed.

* * *

At five to eleven, Spencer and Chelsea were standing at the ready outside of the Davies girls' suite.

Their afternoon had been spent filling out paperwork and reading through White House security briefings. Spencer's head was spinning with all of the codes and regulations she would need to remember for her new assignment. The Secret Service handbook had instructions on how to handle every situation ranging from a major pandemic to nuclear war. It wasn't exactly light reading.

She could hear Chelsea stifling a yawn next to her.

"We keeping you up Lewis?" She asked good-naturedly, giving her friend a gentle nudge with her elbow.

"Most definitely," Chelsea replied. "Shoulda had that third cup of coffee. This jet-lag is killing me. And seriously, who has a study group at twenty-three hundred hours on a week night?"

Spencer shrugged but did not respond. She didn't understand college kids any better than Chels did.

* * *

They probably should have known that the Davies sisters were up to no good when they showed up dressed in skin tight dresses and mile-high heels to study at the library. The stop their driver made to pick up Ashley's obnoxious Latina friend who was also similarly dressed was another big hint. But when the driver pulled their black SUV to a halt outside of a club called 'Gray' it became very clear that there would be little studying happening tonight.

The auxiliary Secret Service team did not seem at all surprised at the turn of events. They stationed themselves at every entrance and exit of the club and began to frisk the people waiting in line to get in. Even the bouncers seemed prepared to handle the added security with no fuss.

"It was really nice of everyone to give us a heads up about all of this," Chelsea muttered to her through her earpiece.

"Nobody's ever nice to the new guys," Spencer grumbled back. She forced her tired mind to remember what the Secret Service handbook had said about what she was supposed to do in a crowded social situation with no obvious threats to security.

All she had to do was keep Ashley in sight and be sure to maintain a decent reactionary distance from her charge. She didn't think that would be too difficult until she got her first view of the pulsing mass of humanity that was Club Gray. She lost visual contact with Chelsea within moments as her friend scrambled away to keep up with Kyla.

Ashley gave her a patronizing pat on the head as she walked backwards in front of Spencer towards the dance floor.

"Do try to keep up Sydney. Mother wouldn't like it if you lost me." And with that, she was off.

Spencer Carlin had been inside a Black Hawk helicopter with no ear protection. She had ducked for cover only yards away from grenade explosions. She had even been on the deck of an aircraft carrier when fighter jets were taking off.

None of that compared to the decibel level of this club. She could feel the vibrations of the incessant bass of the techno beat inside of her skull and it was almost impossible to keep track of the updates from the Secret Service team at the doors of the club through her earpiece. She had a headache that felt like her brain was being pulled in two.

It didn't help that Ashley seemed to try to dodge her at every turn. Spencer refused to let her out of sight though, and pretty soon the Davies girl seemed to give up trying and instead decided to put on a show.

By one o'clock in the morning, Spencer had lost track of the number of shots Ashley had taken. After a string of scantily clad female suitors swarmed the First Daughter as soon as she arrived at the club, Ashley seemed to have finally settled her attentions on a redheaded coed. Even if Ashley's sexual orientation wasn't common knowledge (yet another vital piece of information the Secret Service had left Spencer to discover on her own), the ladies at Gray all seemed to know her preference. The redhead in particular was all over her in a more-than-friendly way.

Now, Spencer didn't disagree that the girl Ashley was dancing with was hot (she did have eyes after all). In fact, in spite of her clown-like makeup and apparent lack of regard for leaving any part of her body to the imagination, Spencer could tell that outside of the club the girl was probably quite beautiful.

But there was nothing attractive about the way she was acting – drunk, clingy, shameless and easy. Then again, there was very little that was attractive about the way that Ashley was acting either.

Maybe it was a match made in heaven.

Spencer had never understood girls who made themselves out to be objects – things to be looked at, or touched, or fucked – instead of human beings. Girls who acted like they were worth nothing more than what their bodies could give others frustrated her to no end.

It was hard enough, especially where she had grown up, to meet other single lesbian girls - let alone a woman who Spencer could envision becoming a partner in more than just a sexual way.

Maybe she was a romantic. Maybe she was a traditionalist. Maybe she had just been burned one too many times. Whatever the reason, Spencer had to believe that there was more to life and love than random hook-ups at a club. Whatever happened to relationships?

Ashley apparently had a very different outlook on life.

Spencer could feel the frown of disapproval creeping onto her face as she watched her charge, but it seemed that the more she showed her discomfort, the wilder Ashley seemed to act.

The dancing turned into grinding, the grinding turned into groping, and Spencer could tell that the groping would soon be headed in the direction of a stall in the ladies bathroom. It was almost a cliché.

She felt like Ashley was intentionally being indecent just to get some sort of reaction out of her.

Everything finally made sense when Ashley's 'special friend' pulled away from her with a gesture that indicated she was headed to the bar to grab them some more drinks. After continuing to dance by herself for a few moments, Ashley seemed to suddenly remember Spencer's existence in her drunken haze.

She danced over to where Spencer was standing at ease a few feet away on the crowded dance floor. Spencer was forced to catch her when she stumbled into her and Ashley seemed pretty content to take a breather in her arms.

Ashley brought her face uncomfortably close to Spencer's own. She wrapped her hand in a fistful of Spencer's collar and smiled coyly at her.

"Enjoying the show?" She asked, in what Spencer could only assume she thought was her sexiest voice.

Spencer could not resist pulling her head back a little. The liquor in Ashley's breath was overpowering.

"Not particularly." She placed her hands on Ashley hips and pushed her a step back out of her personal space, maintaining her grip until Ashley seemed to get her feet beneath her once again.

Ashley laughed at her, but kept her distance this time. She shouted to be heard over the din of the club. "Bet you never dreamed that the president's daughter was such a dyke, did ya? Look at you!"  
Now she was jabbing Spencer in the chest with an accusatory finger, "I can tell by that look on your pretty little girl-next-door face that I disgust you. Bet it just makes you want to pray to Jesus to deliver you from this unnatural freak of nature?!"

The marine very nearly laughed out loud.

Ashley apparently thought she was a raging, red-blooded homophobe.

Spencer wasn't sure whether she should be insulted that Ashley thought she was a bigot, or twistedly proud that she was so good at hiding who _she_ was.

Suddenly Ashley's behavior was starting to make sense. She and Kyla had been very clear that they didn't want Spencer and Chelsea around. It seemed that Ashley thought by flaunting her sexuality on full display, she could somehow unsettle or disgust Spencer enough to get her to request a reassignment.

_If only she knew_, Spencer thought wryly.

For obviously reasons, Spencer couldn't reveal certain facts about herself that would show Ashley just how wrong she was about how she felt about lesbians.

But what she _could_ do was show Davies that quitting wasn't in the vocabulary of a marine or of a Carlin.

It was game on. Spencer never back down from a challenge.

"Miss Davies," she said in her best detached military voice, "I think perhaps you have had too much to drink. Would you like me to take you home?"

Ashley almost looked offended by her lack of response.

"I'm fine just the way I am!" she insisted. Spencer couldn't help but notice that she sounded like she meant than in more than one way. Before she could say more, the skanky redhead returned double-fisting what looked like vodka cranberries. She handed one to Ashley, then wrapped her arms possessively around the First Daughter's waist, halfway dragging her away from her bodyguard and back out onto the dance floor.

Two songs later, Ashley's drink was empty and Spencer was watching her lead her eager and willing conquest toward the ladies room.

She steeled herself before she followed them inside.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Far too early the next morning, Spencer straightened her uniform and squared her shoulders before she forced herself to turn down the hallway that led toward the Davies sisters' suite.

She spotted Chelsea already waiting at ease against the wall facing their door.

"You ready for Day 2 of Operation Babysitter?" Chelsea asked as Spencer gave her a friendly shoulder bump.

Spencer laughed, "Operation Babysitter?"

"You got a better name for this gig?" her friend asked with a raised brow. Though Chelsea didn't have to deal with Kyla baiting her all day and all night in the same way that Ashley acted out, she still hadn't had an easy time guarding her charge at Gray.

"Not a one," Spencer replied, "Day 2 can't be any worse than Day 1. They had to have gotten their rebellion out of their system, right?"

The two friends looked at each other a moment before snickering to themselves. When it came to the Davies sisters, they had a pretty good feeling that life was only going to get harder.

"They're running a little late, aren't they?" Chelsea asked, checking her watch. "My time table says that Kyla's first class is in fifteen minutes. We'll never make it to Georgetown by then."

"I'm thinking punctuality isn't exactly at the top of their priority list after last night," Spencer replied with a smirk. She and Chelsea had dragged the Davies sisters out of the club at 0300 hours this morning when the manager had finally insisted that no matter who their mother was, they had to go.

It was now 0800 hours. Spencer was pretty tired herself.

She had just slid her earpiece into place and adjusted the clip so that it didn't pinch when Ashley and Kyla appeared in the doorway. Spencer noticed with some satisfaction that the girls looked miserable.

"You're still here?" Ashley asked incredulously when she turned her blood shot eyes to see Chelsea and Spencer looking perfectly awake and at the ready. Spencer contained a grin, loving how their plan had back-fired.

"Yes ma'am," Chelsea replied next to her, giving Ashley a tight nod.

"_Ma'am_?" Ashley asked. "That's what you're going to go with?" She used one hand to gesture vaguely to her body. "Does this look like a _ma'am _to you?"

"Yes ma'am," Chelsea answered. There was no trace of a smile on her face, but Spencer knew her friend well enough to hear the sass in her response.

"Let's just go. Mom would have an aneurism if we skipped and the lights in this hallway are doing nothing for my hangover," Kyla grumbled, grabbing Ashley's elbow and pulling her toward the parking garage where their chauffeur was sure to be waiting.

The two marines fell into step a few paces behind them. Spencer gave Chelsea a subtle low-five.

They could try and make their lives hell, but the Davies sisters needed to know that Spencer and Chelsea were in this for the long haul.

Marines got the job done.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Okay… so maybe our girls just need a little **_**more**_** time…**

* * *

"Ughhh!"

Kyla glanced up from her Sunday edition of the _Washington Post_ to see that Ashley was standing with her arms crossed, glaring out the window. She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the article she was reading, which highlighted some potentially unanticipated effects of the national debt on American conservation efforts.

"I can't believe them," Ashley monologued from across the room. Kyla knew her well enough to know that Ashley wouldn't stop interrupting her concentration until she got what she _actually_ wanted, which was for Kyla to ask her what was wrong. Why she couldn't just come out and say whatever was on her mind in the first place, Kyla had yet to figure out in twenty-one years of siblingship.

_Sisters_.

Kyla sighed before folding up the paper and giving in. "Can't believe what?"

"Come see for yourself," Ashley replied tightly. Of course. She couldn't get any points for being an attentive sister if she didn't put down her coffee mug, unwrap herself from her blanket, get up from her spot on the couch, and walk all the way over the window just to humor Ashley.

"And what am I supposed to be looking at?" she asked, resting her chin on Ashley's shoulder and glancing out into the sunny Sunday morning.

Ashley pointed out a pair of people making their way along the paths at the periphery of the White House lawn.

"They jog."

'They,' as it turned out, were Sergeant Carlin and Corporal Lewis, dressed in matching Marine Corps tee-shirts and running shorts. The pair seemed to be spending their first morning off enjoying the unseasonably warm early October weather. Kyla didn't understand whatever it was that Ashley was getting at, but she knew that her sister would get around to a point eventually.

"It would seem that _are_ in fact jogging," Kyla assented.

Ashley shrugged Kyla's head off her shoulder and stepped forward to tap her index finger against the glass. "Well it's weird," she declared. "Who the hell jogs on Sunday morning, like it's a thing that people our age do? Hell, even God takes today off!"

Kyla laughed and patted Ashley's back consolingly. "Ash, plenty of people our age jog. Just because you can't run more than 20 feet at a time doesn't mean that it's weird."

"Okay, but who runs in _unison_? Look at them: _right, left, right, left_ – they are perfectly in sync." She watched the pair of Marines run a few more yards before she reached both hands out to the side and dramatically swept the curtains closed, bathing their living room in darkness. She turned to back to her sister, "And excuse me, but just because I hate to run does _not_ mean I'm out of shape. I just get my cardiovascular exercise other ways." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively to make sure Kyla got her point.

"Ughh, Ash!" It was Kyla's turn to scoff. "Save your awkward sexual innuendos for Sergeant Carlin. I'm your sister and I do not want to think about that. Ever." She made her way over to their small kitchen to pour herself a glass of orange juice. Ashley followed, lifting herself up to sit on the counter.

"Speaking of Carlin," Kyla ventured, trying to casually bring up a topic she had been meaning to talk to her sister about, "Don't you think it's maybe time to tone it down a little?" It had been almost a week since the two Marines had become their bodyguards, and the two women showed no signs of giving up yet.

It hadn't been for a lack of trying on Kyla's and especially Ashley's parts. Kyla was days behind in her political science reading because Ashley had dragged her out to clubs every night this week. On Friday, she had even fallen asleep in the front row of her favorite professor's lecture, much to her horror. No amount of verbal jabs, public embarrassment or, in Ashley's case, near sexual harassment, seemed to make their bodyguards show any signs of weakness or indications that they might request a transfer.

On top of it all, no matter what the Davies sisters did to try to shake their near-silent human shadows, the Marines were somehow always one step behind them, just as their mother had promised. Maybe the president _had_ finally found a way to keep her daughters in line…

It only took her four years.

Ashley looked scandalized. "Tone it down? Tone it down!? It's only been a few days, I'm just getting warmed up!"

"Uh huh," Kyla hummed, "and I am _more_ than sure that you could find plenty of more ways to make their lives miserable, but let's take a step back here and consider the facts." She took a quick gulp of orange juice before trying to achieve the impossible – getting Ashley to change her mind.

She ticked off her points on her fingers as she made them. "One: We have to have_ some_ sort of bodyguards. National security protocol mandates that a president and his or her family are guarded against threats that would undermine the safety of the nation."

"Two: After what happened a last week with Nadia your Saudi friend, mother is never going to trust us to uphold her image again, especially during an election year. Believe it or not, our behavior actually does reflect on her, in the eyes of the American people. She sees our Marine escorts as the only way she can protect her name, and I think we both know that her reputation is more important to her than what we want."

"Three: Corporal Lewis and Sergeant Carlin aren't really all that bad, when you stop and…"

"Excuse me?!" Ashley interrupted, leaping back down off the counter in shock. "Not that bad?!"

"Ash, jeeze, calm down for two seconds and listen to me!" Kyla shouted back, matching her sister's tone. Kyla didn't have any idea how Ashley managed to be so dramatic all the time. It was exhausting.

"Fine, go on and explain your insanity to me," Ashley challenged back.

"Okay, let's take last night: what we did with those biker guys in Arlington? That was technically illegal and probably really stupid. And yet somehow, twelve hours later, Mom hasn't yelled at us about it yet? They didn't rat us out to her! That's something, isn't it? And I've been getting to know Chelsea better and once you get her loosened up, really, she's a sweetheart."

Ashley just looked confused. "Who the hell is Chelsea?"

Kyla laughed. "Chelsea is Corporal Lewis. That's her name." She paused for a beat. "Do you even know Sergeant Carlin's first name?"

"Psshh," Ashley flipped her wrist. "What does it matter?"

Kyla looked at her sister in disbelief. "Ashley, you've spent almost every waking hour of the past week with this woman, and you haven't even taken the time to get to know her name? I mean come on Ash, have some decency – her job is to _literally_ take a bullet for you! Even if you don't like her being there, and even if you're actively trying to get her to quit, you could at least learn her name."

Ashley almost looked guilty (almost), before she crossed her arms across her chest defensively and stood her ground.

"I'm not asking her to do that. And I don't even want her to be there! I thought you and I were on the same page about this!" She tried to put the blame back on her sister.

"I was, and I am," Kyla tried to convince her, "But I think the best thing I can do to be in your corner right now is to try and convince you that maybe we can work with this – work with them. I think that these girls could be different, if you'd just give them a chance."

Ashley didn't reply. She stormed out of the kitchen and into her room, slamming the door behind her. She didn't come out until later that evening when they had their mandatory Sunday dinner with their mother.

* * *

Spencer was somewhat surprised that first time she finally saw the president was nearly a week after she had taken up her new post as bodyguard to one of the First Daughters. She was around Ashley almost all day long and this was also the first time she saw either of the Davies sisters interact with their mother.

Spencer had Skyped with her own parents at least three times she had arrived in Washington. It did not take her long to figure out that the Davies girls had a very different sort of relationship with their mother than Spencer and her brothers had with the elder Carlins. It was part of the reason she and Chelsea had chosen not to tell the president about Kyla and Ashley's antics thus far. The two Marines had agreed that the good will that they would show by avoiding getting the sisters into trouble might just help them do their job better. Obviously, reporting every last detail to the president had not worked out well for their predecessors, as Spencer and Chelsea had learned from their Secret Service colleagues.

She and Chelsea had been advised to escort their charges to a small Mediterranean restaurant on Massachusetts Ave where they found the president and her personal Secret Service team, including Agent Dennison, waiting.

The entire restaurant had been cleared in expectation of the First Family's arrival. Apparently, once per week Christine and her daughters patronized a different local restaurant. Christine's chief of staff was always sure to alert the press so that they could capture a few images of the president interacting with local DC business owners before she sat down to eat privately with her children. Since the restaurant trips were planned well in advance, security was extra tight and there were several auxiliary Secret Service teams scattered around the block.

Spencer found herself stationed at the east end of the dining room. Agent Dennison was just to her left and Chelsea was standing at attention on the other side of the room.

At first, the silence of the meal was making Spencer a little uncomfortable. For the first ten minutes, the only sound that any of the Davies made was the rustling of a menu page. Once they finally ordered, Christine initiated some small talk.

"So," she looked between her two daughter who were sitting across from her on the other side of the small table. "How are your studies?"

Kyla jumped right in, looking almost excited to talk about what Spencer had come to learn was one of her favorite subjects. "Oh, quite well! I just had a debate in Modern American Politics on Thursday about energy policy. It was funny, actually, your name came up a lot in my class and…"

"That's good dear." Christine interrupted after swallowing a rather large gulp of red wine. "Ashley, have you been staying out of trouble?"

If Kyla was hurt by her mother's brush-off, she didn't say anything, though she was no longer sitting up as straight in her chair as she had been before. In fact, Ashley looked more upset about her mother's lack of interest than her sister did.

"Yes." Ashley shot back, clearly trying to match her mother's bored tone. "But I can't say that trouble's been staying out of me."

President Davies nearly spat out her next sip of wine when she finally understood the implication of what Ashley had just said. She darted her eyes around the dining room as if checking to be sure that all the media's cameras were truly gone before she focused her rage on her eldest daughter.

"Ashley you will not speak of your… your activities in public!" She slammed her palm down on the table-cloth next to her to emphasize her point.

Ashley rolled her eyes, "Well Kyla _was_ going to tell you about her debate, but you were the one who brought up the subject of my 'exploits', so I just figured I would roll with it." Kyla looked nervously back and forth between her mother and sister before she busied herself with the humus and pita that their waiter had left.

Chelsea caught Spencer's eye from across the room. Her friend looked about as uncomfortable as Spencer felt being a fly on the wall of this hostile family interaction.

"Forgive me for being concerned about a pertinent issue that could ruin our family name," Christine hissed. She was gripping the stem of her wine glass so tightly that Spencer worried that it might crack.

"Pertinent?" Ashley scoffed as she shook her silverware out of her napkin, setting into the meal as she was settling into the defense of her sister. "When am I _not_ ever doing something that makes you fear for the family name? Can't you just take two seconds and be a proud mother for the daughter who might actually give our family a decent reputation in politics one day?"

The argument went on through the first course, with Ashley and Christine butting heads at every turn in the conversation. The dinner ended quickly enough when Christine stormed out of the restaurant just before desert was served, leaving her youngest in tears and her oldest fuming.

Spencer couldn't help but feel bad that the Davies girls didn't get to experience the same sort of affection that Spencer's mother and father showered upon their children. It must have been hard to grow up with a mother like that. She wondered what Raife had been like, and if their childhoods had been any different with him around – if he was even around at all, being the rock star that he was.

"Is it always like that?" Spencer asked Agent Dennison when they met later that night for a debrief. The evening had given the Marine some insight into the two sisters she had come to know only as trouble. Seeing them with their demanding and unaffectionate mother explained some of their hostility against anything Christine forced upon them, including their two new Marine body guards.

Aiden laughed, "No, not usually. The president didn't throw anything this time, so I think all in all it was a pretty subdued Davies Family dinner."

* * *

The next morning, Spencer and Chelsea went back to their usual schedule and picked the Davies girls up for their Monday morning classes.

The week seemed to be off to a noticeably different start than the last. Kyla had actually smiled and greeted Chelsea by name, and while Ashley hadn't actively acknowledged Spencer's presence, she hadn't yet insulted her either.

Spencer had to admit that Ashley was looking pretty nice – especially without her verbal abuse to sour her face. She was wearing her curly hair tied back in a messy pony tail and was sporting a retro leather vest over a plain white V-neck. The look was completed with a pair of torn up skinny jeans, silver hoop earrings and brightly colored flats. Spencer noticed that she was also wearing what looked like a guitar case as a backpack, as well as her usual tote.

In fact, Spencer was feeling optimistic enough about the whole morning to admit to herself that Ashley kind of looked hot.

After all, Spencer wasn't blind – she just had standards. Rude, ungrateful rich girls weren't really her type.

* * *

After her last class of the afternoon, instead of heading back to the presidential SUV with Kyla, Ashley had led Spencer into the basement of the music building. She listened quietly outside of several closed doors before opening one to reveal a small, sound-proofed practice room. Spencer followed her inside, checked the room and then took her usual post by the door.

Ashley slid the guitar case off her shoulders and set it down lightly next to her seat, taking a moment to stretch her shoulders and arms before she took out her instrument.

The girl made stretching look sexy without even trying.

_What the heck was that!?_ Spencer asked herself with some sense of alarm.

She shook a little to cut off the train of thought. Best never to let that train leave the station, she chided herself. She took a second to remember all of the uncomfortable moments Ashley had forced her to suffer through over the last week to put her back into her proper state of mind. There were a lot of options to choose from: being forced to listen to Ashley fuck that redhead from Grey in the bathroom; being accused multiple times of being homophobic; having to walk around in a vomit covered uniform for most of Thursday night; running up twenty-three flights of stairs after Ashley and Kyla tried to ditch them via elevators… the list went on and on.

Much to Spencer's surprise, the instrument Ashley had carried around all day was not a guitar at all – it was a cello. It didn't quite fit with the image she seemed so hard put to portray.

"You play that?" Spencer asked before she realized she posed her question out loud.

"No Sandy," Ashley replied sarcastically, "I use it to comb my hair."

Spencer winced at the bite. "That's not what I meant, it's just you set yourself up to be this badass rocker chick and you spend your free time playing the _cello_?"

Ashley smiled a little at her outburst. Spencer realized it was probably the most Ashley had ever heard her speak. "It case you were worried, Summer, I play guitar too. I _am_ Raife Davies' daughter after all. And while I'm not opposed to you referring to me as a 'badass rocker chick' or any other sexy little nicknames you come up with," she gave Spencer an obvious once over, licking her lips, "I'm not really into labels."

Spencer glared at her, but gave no other response to Ashley's efforts to fluster her. This girl was really starting to push her buttons. After she had realized that Spencer would never admit to being a bigot, Ashley had decided that shamelessly hitting on her might be a way to finally get Spencer to crack.

Spencer had dealt with more unwanted sexual advances from Ashley in a week than she had faced in four years of living in the desert with a pack of testosterone feuled men. Go figure.

She muttered a quick all-clear into her earpiece, while Ashley settled the cello between her thighs and ran the bow experimentally over the instrument's strings. Spencer had to admit that she was a least a _little_ impressed as she watched Ashley tune the instrument by ear, taking the time to adjust the pitch until it was just right.

She didn't know much about music, but from the few brief weeks her brother Clay had attempted to play the saxophone, the Marine assumed that most practice sessions were filled with squeaks and honks and plenty of scales. She was ready for an hour of ear-splitting noise, but instead all she heard was music – _beautiful _music.

Spencer avoided watching Ashley at first – lest she be accused of staring again – but she needn't have worried. Ashley played almost entirely with her eyes closed. Though she had several sheets of music in front of her, Spencer did not see her look at them once as she played.

It was almost as if the instrument was a part of her body – her fingers moved unhesitantly over the strings and her bow was a blur of motion as she drew sounds out from the instrument that Spencer could feel resonating through her. She almost felt like Ashley was leading her on a journey through the music.

Spencer realized that she was seeing a side of Ashley that she had never seen before. In some ways, watching Ashley play was like seeing her naked. Gone was the sarcastic, bad girl attitude. Without it, Ashley seemed almost… vulnerable. Maybe there was more to Ashley than Spencer had first given her credit for.

She was almost sorry when the music came to an end what felt like hours later.

"Bach's Cello Suite, Number 1." Ashley said as she opened her eyes, breaking the silence. "Beautiful, isn't it?" She was wearing the most genuine smile Spencer had ever seen on her face.

"Yeah," Spencer agreed, meeting her eyes and smiling back. "It really is."

* * *

After cello practice, Ashley had declared that she needed to stop to and grab something to eat before returning home. She insisted that the head chef at the White House didn't know how to make a proper burger and claimed that she was going through withdrawal.

Spencer had to put her long legs to work to keep up with her charge. Ashley was a girl on a mission as she motored along the store fronts of Georgetown. Spencer nearly ran into her when she stopped short on the sidewalk.

"_This," _she announced with an overdramatic flourish, "Is _Ollie's_."

It appeared to be a small diner on the corner of the street, with bizarre circus-themed antiques in its large glass windows. Inside Spencer could see more traditional red plastic diner booths and a pretty large crowd for midafternoon.

"Okay Shamus, enough ogling," Ashley beckoned from the doorway, "Let's go, I'm getting hungry." Ashley had run out of girls names that afternoon and for lack of any better ideas, she had moved on to guys names. Spencer was sure that she had a list of baby names in her back pocket. She had seen her sneakily reference the document throughout the day.

The diner smelled like grease and meat and cheese and heaven. Spencer's stomach growled to attention, reminding her that she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. She tried to ignore it and instead focused on surveying the crowd in the diner.

There was no line at the counter, so Ashley strolled right up like she owned the place and ordered a cheeseburger, french-fries and a chocolate milk shake.

"You've got it Miss Davies," the teenage cashier replied as he punched the order into the register.

"Huh, he knows my name. Almost like I'm famous or something…" She gave Spencer one of her cheeky grins before noticing that the Marine was having trouble keeping her eyes off the patties on the grill just behind the diner counter.

"Oh my god," Ashley exclaimed, "Are you drooling?" She wasn't, but Spencer's hand jumped up to her lower lip to check anyway.

"No," she snapped, "I'm not."

She knew she shouldn't explain further, but she couldn't help it. The powerful scent of cheeseburgers and fries was doing something to her head. "I haven't had a cheeseburger in nine months," she admitted a little wistfully.

"Where have you been, the moon?" Ashley asked in disbelief as she dug through her purse to pull out her wallet to pay the cashier.

"Afghanistan," Spencer corrected shortly.

"Oh." Apparently Ashley didn't have any commentary to provide on that. She actually looked a little sheepish. She turned back to the cashier and handed him her debit card. "Double the order kid."

Spencer felt her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. Had Ashley Davies just done something _nice_?

"You didn't have to do that," Spencer told her.

Ashley merely shrugged. "Whatever, not like it's a big deal or anything." She led them over to a booth near the center of the small restaurant and plopped herself down. Spencer wasn't sure what the proper procedure was for this situation and so she hovered awkwardly at the end of the booth.

"Don't make this weirder than this already is by eating your burger standing up," Ashley muttered as she pointed to the empty bench across from her.

Hesitantly, Spencer sat.

Moments later a waitress slapped their burgers, fries and shakes onto the table between them. Ashley wasted no time digging in and Spencer followed her lead.

She couldn't resist the urge to moan when she took her first bite. It was everything she had dreamed and more. The way the cheese and beef and onion blended together into savory goodness was like a symphony in her mouth. It had to have been the best thing she had ever tasted.

"Let's not turn this into a _When Harry Met Sally Moment_ here Snooki," Ashley ordered from behind her own burger.

Spencer felt her cheeks flush when she realized she had been caught. "It's good enough that I don't _have_ to fake it," she retored.

Spencer froze. Had she really just said that out loud?

With the combination of the burger, movie reference, and comfortable seat, Spencer had forgotten for a second that she was not among friends.

"Lighten up Simon, you cracked a joke, don't look so mortified about it." And now Ashley was making fun of her. Again.

Spencer turned her attention back to her food but this time took better care to mask her gusto.

"So…" Ashley drew out, as she swirled her straw through her milkshake. "What's your deal?"

Spencer finished the last bite of her burger and moved on to the fries. "My deal?" She asked. She was never able to follow how Ashley's brain worked.

Ashley rolled her eyes as if her question was obvious. "Your deal with the uniform and the salutes and the stick up your ass."

Spencer felt the little vein by her temple start to throb but otherwise contained her annoyance. "Why did I join the Marine Corps?" She asked, looking for clarification.

"Okay, we can start with that," Ashley gestured for her to continue.

Spencer shrugged as she dipped another fry into some ketchup. Wasn't it obvious? "It's an honor to serve my country," she said.

"Well you could also serve your country by cleaning toilets at the Capital, and that at least would have regular hours," Ashley told her, as if that was the same thing. "Why the military?"

Spencer put down her fries and folded her hands in front of her on the table, turning her full attention on Ashley. She hesitated, unsure of if she really wanted to get into this debate with Ashley Davies, of all people, but she decided to go for it anyway: "My family has served in the United States Armed Forces going back four generations. I was raised from birth to help those who are not in a position to help themselves and to stand up for what I believe in. What I believe in is this country."

Ashley's brown eyes searched her own, as if she was actually trying to understand where Spencer was coming from.

"And you feel like the best way to help people is by running around with machine guns and shooting things?" she asked.

Spencer rolled her eyes. "Of course not. There are a lot of people in this world, and the vast majority of them are good, honest people, just trying to live their lives. But there are bad people too, people who want things they don't deserve and who take things they haven't earned. They have no qualms about who they hurt to get power. Most people don't have the training or the resources to stand up against the tyranny they face, but the Corps does."

"As for guns: The bad guys have weapons, so sometimes I need them too. Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire."

"Wow," Ashley said after a beat, "That was almost kind of deep, for a jug head that is."

Spencer sighed. She knew sheshould probably just save her breath but...

"It's 'Jar head'." Didn't Ashley know _anything_ about the Marines?

Ashley flapped a hand at her. "And that's better? Whatever. Anyway, this country elected my _mother_ as its leader and you _still_ believe in it?"

_Everybody makes mistakes_… Spencer thought to herself, suppressing a smile. Instead she went with, "Democracy in all her glory." Ashley could interpret that however she wanted. Spencer might detest Christine Davies as a person and as a politician, but she would never bad-mouth the Commander-In-Chief in public.

"Whatever you say Spencer."

Spencer nearly choked on her milkshake in surprise.

"What the hell is wrong with…WAIT," Ashley exclaimed. "Wait! That's right, isn't it? Your name is Spencer!?"

Spencer was still coughing, trying to dislodge the chocolate from her trachea. She managed to nod.

"Spencer," Ashley said again, this time drawing the name out and appreciating how it rolled off her tongue, "Spencer Carlin."

Spencer managed to crack a smile in spite of herself. Ashley looked so proud of her victory. "Present and accounted for."

Ashley rolled her eyes but smiled back. "I like it." She declared.

"That's good, I was so desperate for your approval." Spencer replied with mock sincerity.

Ashley threw a French fry at her, but Spencer caught it with a rather impressive show of reflexes and tossed it back into Ashley's basket.

"Whatever Sarge," Ashley flapped her hand in a dismissive gesture. "It suits you."

Spencer couldn't help but notice that for all of her mockery over the last week, Ashley had nothing snide or sarcastic to say about her real name, which was a little surprising considering how much flack her friends at home had always given her about her unusual masculine name.

She tried not to let herself read too much into the soft sparkle in Ashley's eyes.

Instead she settled with a quiet, "Thank you."

Ashley seemed to accept that too.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Apologies for the delay. Here's another long chapter hot off the presses. Let's call this one "Friends, Lovers, Brothers, and Others." The ladies deal with a bit of each of those here, I think.**

* * *

After a long Saturday afternoon chasing Ashley around the mall at Georgetown Park, Spencer was looking forward to her evening off.

As she returned to her apartment, she quickly checked her watch and noted that she had just made it back in time. She plopped down on the couch, grabbed the remote and flicked on the television.

Though technology wasn't really her thing, with a little trouble Spencer managed to connect the television to their wireless internet and log into her Skype account. Within seconds, the goofy jingle of the incoming call alert was pulsing softly through the speakers.

Over in the kitchen, Chelsea looked up from her sketchpad with a knowing smile. "It that time again?" she asked.

"You know it," Spencer grinned eagerly. She slid forward to the edge of her seat to lean closer to the webcam on the TV.

Chelsea stood up and stretched before giving Spencer a half-hearted salute and retreating to her room to give her friend some privacy. "Say hey to the boys for me."

Spencer wasted no more time and clicked the remote to answer the call. She could not contain her smile when her brothers' faces popped up onto the screen.

"Spencer!" They chimed, almost in unison as their grins matched her own. Their heads were pressed uncomfortably close together so that they were both visible on the screen.

"Hey guys, long time no see!"

"You got that right!" Glen replied dramatically. "You've been back in the states for weeks now! We got to see your face more when you were in Afghanistan than we do now with you living less than an hour away! Email's not cutting it kid sister!"

Spencer winced, "Sorry Glen, my new assignment is kind of crazy."

"Hey cut her some slack, she's a working girl," Clay gave his brother a little shove, which nearly knocked Glen off his perch on the arm of Clay's chair, "Not everyone has time to sit around playing Halo half the day."

Glen scoffed, "It's not nearly half the day. And I'm plenty busy too! Between classes, basketball and flight school, my Halo hours are way down this semester!"

Spencer laughed. "What will the video game world do without you there to blow up aliens? I really am sorry though. I don't have set hours yet, and there doesn't seem to be a real schedule to our days off. The Colonel said that they are working on getting a rotation with the Secret Service settled, so I'm hoping things will get better soon."

"And how are things going with _Operation Baby Sitter_?" Clay asked. Spencer had told her brothers all about the Davies sisters' antics to try and get her and Chelsea to quit. They loved to hear stories about Ashley's more outrageous achievements of mischief.

"Okay," Spencer relented. "Better, maybe? I think I'm starting to come to an understanding with Ashley. She's been trying to ditch me less and less. Her latest attempt to escape my watch was to hide in one of those circular clothing racks at the mall today. It seemed almost half-hearted."

Glen snickered. "Maybe you _are_ growing on her."

"I said '_an understanding'_" Spencer laughed, "Not a peace treaty. She still won't stop hitting on me though."

"Well maybe you should just go with it," Glen suggested. "If she's really into you, and not just messing around, you could mix a little work with pleasure, if you know what I mean…" He waggled his eyebrows.

"Glen!" Spencer and Clay rebuked at the same time. Clay elbowed his brother again, this time succeeding in knocking him off the chair's arm and onto the floor.

Spencer was always a little surprised to see the muscles that had been built up in her bookish brother's arms. The Naval Academy had been good for both of her brothers. Clay had come out of his shell to become the sort of leader Spencer had always known he could be if he gained a little more confidence. His improved physical conditioning and newly developed mental toughness seemed to have been just what he needed. Glen on the other hand, had (believe it or not) actually learned some self-control. He was still the goofy big brother she had always known and loved growing up, but now he knew how to take himself a little more seriously.

Most of the time.

Glen's head popped back up into the bottom of the picture. "I'm just saying! Think about it: You're hot. She's hot. It'd be hot… And I say this in a 100% brotherly way of course."

"Glen, seriously, are you trying to get me fired… or worse?" She let the question hang there. Sometimes her eldest brother was so dim.

Glen and Clay of course both knew about her sexuality. In fact, she was pretty sure they had both known even before she had figured it out herself. Glen always told her this story about how she'd had a full-on five-year-old crush on Cinderella when their parents had taken them to Disney World. Clay would remind her that he had never seen her take an interest in a single guy since he had been adopted into their family when they were both twelve. Her brothers had both been pillars of support when she was figuring herself out, and Glen had even gone so far as to set her up on her first date with a girl when she was sixteen.

Spencer assumed that it was for this reason that they both had always taken an avid interest in her love life. It was both endearing and incredibly annoying.

"Easy sis," Glen raised his open palms in front of him. "All I'm saying is that from the perspective of a completely unbiased third party observer, it sounds like you ladies have some chemistry. And hey, blame a guy for wanting to see his sister happy."

Clay cut in, trying to salvage his brother's point, "What I believe captain subtle over here is trying to say is that you haven't had anything more than flings for a couple of years now… at least that you've told us about anyway. Maybe now that you are no longer living on a base or at a camp with people watching your every move all the time, you could put yourself out there a little bit. Meet someone new…" Clay had the decency to look sheepish about his lecture, but Glen crossed his arms and nodded his head in firm assent.

"That's what I was trying to say," he added smugly.

Spencer sighed, running her hand through her tied-back blonde hair and settling back into the couch behind her. "Look, I appreciate what you guys are saying, and I know you are both just looking out for me, but I have to figure this out on my own."

Honestly, it was an issue which she had avoided "figuring out on her own" for the past few months now. It was a constant inner battle between her loyalty to the Corps and her loyalty to her true self. She still changed her mind on a daily basis about what she was going to do when her enlistment contract came up for renewal in a little less than a year.

Sometimes she could admit to herself that she _was_ lonely. She felt it most strongly whenever she returned home on leave to see how happy her parents were with one another. Sometimes she was jealous of her mother – getting to have the career she wanted in the military, and the spouse she wanted outside of it. That combination was something Spencer would never have.

Spencer decided that this train of conversation had gone on long enough and tried to steer it off in another direction before things got too heavy.

"How's flight school going Glen?" Glen was currently in civilian helicopter pilot school on the weekends. It was the first step in his process of becoming a naval pilot when he graduated. Her brother had dreams of flying SeaHawk helicopters - a career that he insisted would use the best of his video game playing talents.

"Awesome," Glen replied with his trademark grin. He swept his hand through his buzzed blond hair, "And I'd love to tell you all about it, but I have to run or I'm going to be late for basketball practice." He pulled a duffle bag from the floor and slung it on to his shoulder. "See you later little sis. Love ya, and stay safe!"

"You too!" Spencer called to his retreating form before he disappeared from view. The slamming of a door told her that he was gone.

"Well," Clay said, leaning back conformably in his desk chair now that his brother wasn't cramping his space. "Looks like I've got you all to myself now. I love him, but that boy never lets me get a word in edge-wise!"

Spencer laughed, "Join the club! Oh, Chelsea said to tell you _'hey'_."

Clay looked both pleased and embarrassed. "Tell her I say _'hey'_ back." Spencer rolled her eyes, but laughed. Ever since they had met two years ago, her best friend and her brother had been dancing around each other like two love-sick puppies. It was both adorable and sad. She hoped they would finally get together one day soon.

She could tell her brother didn't really want to talk about his love life either, so she let the issue slide for the time being.

Spencer had always found that she had more in common with her adopted brother than her blood one. Whereas Glen was always a clown and the center of attention, Clay and Spencer were more likely to hang back and observe a situation before they acted. Not to mention the fact that Clay had always been a little more sensitive than their other brother. It was part of what was going to make him a great doctor someday.

Speaking of, that reminded Spencer of what she had been planning on talking to Clay about in the first place tonight before Glen had sidetracked them with her love life. "So how are the med school interviews going? If I'm keeping track correctly, you just had one at Columbia?"

Clay grinned shyly, "Yeah, on Friday. I think they're going well. It's a bit unnerving to sit around with all these accomplished applicants and try to find a way to make yourself stand out from the crowd."

Spencer shook her head in disbelief. "Clay, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. You are going to get in everywhere you applied and have schools knocking on your door trying to get you to join their class!" She said it with complete confidence because it was true – her brother was _that_ smart.

"Spence, I don't know if you understand how competitive this process is…" Clay trailed off, fiddling with the name plate on his Naval Academy school uniform.

"Oh I get it," Spencer replied easily, "You've spewed the statistics at me enough times, but I just so happen to know how awesome you are and…" She was cut off by a knock at the door. "Sorry, hold up a second."

She reluctantly stood up from the couch and made her way over to the door while Clay looked on with interest from the other side of the television screen.

Spencer was surprised when someone breezed right past her and into her living room uninvited when she opened the door.

It was Ashley.

_Who else?_

Ashley had stormed into her apartment with such force that the girl seemed to have almost lost track of where she had left Spencer behind at the threshold. She glanced with interest over to where Clay's face was plastered on the television screen before placing her hands on her hips and whirling to face the Marine.

"Can I help you with something Ms. Davies," Spencer asked in her best military annoyance-masking voice.

"Yeah, actually, you sort of have to," Ashley retorted sharply with a glare, "It's your job." Ashley actually sounded more flippant than usual. Spencer waited for her to go on, taking a moment to appreciate the fact that Ashley seemed to be dressed up – and rather conservatively at that. She was wearing a modest red dress that ran down to her knees and that showed absolutely no cleavage. And were those panty hose she was wearing?

"Okay…" Spencer offered unhelpfully.

"I have a date. You have to come guard me. I'm supposed to over in Arlington by five." Ashley stated her purpose rather matter-of-factly, unemotionally. Spencer glanced at her watch again. Five o'clock was in fifteen minutes. They would have to leave now if they were ever going to make it on time.

Why did Ashley insist on giving her absolutely no notice about anything? It was infuriating, especially when it was supposed to be her night off and she was supposed to be spending it with her brother.

Spencer, of course, let none of this show on her face. "Okay, let me grab my things," She responded evenly. She crossed back over to the couch where Clay was looking on patiently.

"I'm sorry Clay, but it looks like duty calls." She rolled her eyes with her back to Ashley so that only Clay could see. He contained a smile.

"It's okay," he responded. His gaze flicked to Ashley over Spencer's shoulder. "I hope you have a good evening Ms. Davies." He said politely. "And I'll talk to you later Spence. Love you."

"Love you too," Spencer responded automatically. Her family had always been verbally affectionate. It had never bothered her before, except for right now when she could hear Ashley sniggering behind her.

Spencer logged out of Skype, grabbed her gun holster from where she had tossed it down on the coffee table, and turned back to Ashley, unable to contain a glare.

Ashley looked almost back to her usual self as she teased the Marine. "Sorry to interrupt your date, but my date is on 'presidential orders' and thus trumps yours. And where I go, you go. Come on," she turned back toward the still open door leading out of the apartment. "You can carry on with your boy toy later."

Spencer chased Ashley out into the hallway. Would that girl ever stop making assumptions about her life?

* * *

"…so the guy must have figured I didn't read the bill, because he went on and on about how bipartisan it was…"

Ashley resisted the urge to drum her fingers along the side of her wine glass. Twenty minutes into her surprise mandated date with Ethan Rayne and she was already bored to tears.

At twenty six years old, Ethan Rayne of the Virginian Rayne family political dynasty was the youngest man currently sitting in a seat in Congress. Fox News called him "the harbinger of the new age of Conservative America." _People_ magazine called him "America's most eligible political bachelor."

Ashley preferred to call him a prick and a self-entitled douchebag…

"…and $4.3 million dollars for highway repair in middle-of-nowhere Indiana! Can you believe it? Golly!"

…just not to his face of course. She had to keep up appearances. Mother simply demanded it.

It was her mother, after all, who had gotten her into this most-undesired relationship in the first place. Last year when some of the more observant bloggers on the internet had begun to become suspicious about Ashley's chronic lack of male companions, her mother had panicked at the thought of the press discovering what her daughter was.

She had set Ashley up with Ethan Rayne. The relationship benefited her mother three-fold. First, Ethan served as Ashley's beard and kept the press' nose off the scent of their biggest family secret.

Second, it forged a tie between the Davies and one of America's oldest political powerhouse families – the Raynes. They were filthy rich, incredibly powerful, and super conservative – just the sort of people Christine needed by her side for re-election.

"…So I told him what I thought my father would say about that…"

Third, Ashley believed that her mother got some sort of sick pleasure out of forcing her to spend hours alone with a sleaze-ball who was too full of himself to even notice that Ashley was not remotely interested in him. Or even paying attention to him.

"…and so I said to the man, 'I won't stand for that sort of pork-barrel spending on my watch!' and boy did he turn red. I thought the minority leader was going to cry." Ethan was still talking.

That was odd - Ashley was pretty sure that the last time she had mentally checked in to hear what he was saying he had been going on about how uncomfortable the seats in the House were. The man took every possible chance he could get to work that fact that he was a Congressman into a conversation, as if Ashley didn't already know.

They had been 'dating' for over a year now. She got the picture.

"Wow," Ashley muttered when there was a gap in his monologue. She found that he asked fewer questions when she made these sorts of monosyllabic sounds every once in a while. It made life easier for the both of them.

Bored again as he launched back into his story, Ashley glanced over to where Sergeant Carlin was sitting one table away, hoping for a distraction.

Unfortunately, Carlin looked about as bored as she did, sipping the glass of water in front of her automatically every twenty seconds or so as her eyes flickered around the room, keeping an eye on the other guests of the four-star restaurant.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ashley caught the first of several flashbulbs go off. Outside of the window next to their table, as small crowd of paparazzi had begun to amass. She rolled her eyes into her wine glass as she took another long sip. Her mother must have had her people call them. The public loved the idea of a romance between Ashley Davies and Ethan Rayne and so her mother loved it as well. The tabloids made them out to be the next Kate Middleton and Prince William.

Ashley liked to think she was way hotter than the Duchess of Cambridge, and way cooler. After meeting the royal couple at their wedding last year, Ashley had come to the conclusion that Kate and Will were way boring even if Kate did redeem herself slightly with her wardrobe.

Across from her, Ethan chuckled fakely. "Ah, looks like they've found us out darling." He reached across the table and grabbed her hand. Ashley resisted the urge to pull it out of his slimy grasp and smack him across the face with it.

But her mother's warning earlier in the evening when she had sprung the surprise date on her resounded in Ashley's head. If she did anything to mess up her "relationship" with Ethan Rayne during an election year, Ashley could kiss her inheritance goodbye.

She was between a rock and a hard place and couldn't seem to get her feet beneath her for long enough to work her way out.

"Uh-huh," Ashley replied non-commitally, avoiding his eyes as he purposefully leaned forward and tried to catch her gaze. He used his grip on her hand to full her a little towards him. Ashley winced as her curls came dangerously close to her French onion soup.

"Why don't we just give them the picture they want, eh?" And before Ashley could even react, he was threading his other hand into her hair and stretching across the table to crash his lips into her own.

Ashley fought to control her gag reflex. She hated kissing Ethan and did it no more than was absolutely necessary for appearances. Generally speaking, her "wholesome, conservative upbringing" prevented her from having to take their relationship physically any further than kissing when in public. In private, Ethan sometimes tried to push his luck. Ashley made sure that they spent as little time together in private as possible.

If Ethan noticed her discomfort, he made no sign of it. Either he didn't know that she was definitely not interest in him, or he didn't care. Ashley wouldn't have been surprised if he was in this relationship for the same reason her mother was.

The kiss went on for what felt like ages. _Eww_, he tasted like cigarettes and was definitely wearing too much cologne. Not to mention he had stubble.

It was all very unpleasant.

"Excuse me, Ms. Davies, Congressman Rayne, I'm sorry to interrupt," came Sergeant Carlin's suspiciously unapologetic voice from behind Ashley. Mercifully, Ethan broke the kiss to see what was going on. Ashley quickly took another sip of wine to try to wash the taste of him from her mouth.

"Yes, can I help you?" Ethan asked with a bit of attitude. He seemed annoyed that he had to crane his neck to look up at the tall Marine interrupting his photo-op. Ashley rolled her eyes discretely.

Didn't this guy know _anything_. Attitude didn't get you anywhere with GI Jane. It just made her more steadfast in whatever the hell she was doing.

"I'm getting reports of a disturbance two blocks from here, a minor security threat," the Marine replied evenly as ever, gesturing vaguely at her earpiece.

Ethan sat back against his chair. "Oh, I see. Anything I should be concerned about?" He asked.

"No sir," Sergeant Carlin replied. "Just reports of a mugging. The suspects have not yet been apprehended, so it is standard procedure for me to take Ms. Davies to a more secure location. You understand."

Ashley felt a gentle grasp under her elbow, pulling her to her feet. "If you'll follow me Ms. Davies," the Marine said, releasing Ashley's arm once she sensed that she was not going to get any resistance from her charge.

Ashley allowed herself to be led out of the dining room and through the back doors to the kitchen, sparing a glance over her shoulder and waggling her fingers at Ethan in a triumphant goodbye.

She wanted to flip him the bird, but decided that such gestures were probably not what her mother had in mind for "lady-like behavior".

Ashley didn't realize how stifling the restaurant had been until her lungs felt fresh air. She took a moment to bask in her good fortune.

"I'm sorry somebody had to get mugged, but I owe some hoodlum a debt of gratitude for saving me from that torture." She took a moment to twirl in place, arms stretched out wide, reveling in her freedom.

"Don't be." Spencer replied, arms crossed in her usual business-like manner.

Ashley stopped spinning, confused. "Don't what?"

"Don't be sorry. No one got mugged." Spencer said.

Ashley took a second to think about that. "So I guess that means the hoodlum I'm supposed to thank is you." She gave the Marine an appraising look. "Perhaps I've misjudged you."

Spencer shrugged, refusing to meet Ashley's playful gaze. "That looked uncomfortable back there. When you said you had a date, I figured…"

"Short skirt, lip-stick, feminine wiles?" Ashley supplied helpfully.

Spencer huffed. "Well, given what I know about you…"

"That I'm a ragging lesbian?" Ashley offered again.

Spencer rolled her eyes, clearly not liking being interrupted. "I didn't expect your date to be a…"

"Guy. Yeah, not my choice, believe me. That was my mother's doing." Ashley figured that was explanation enough. Sergeant Carlin had been living with the dysfunctional Davies for a few weeks now. She got the picture.

"Well, your date is over now. You are free to do as you please." Spencer replied.

* * *

"Well I can't go back home now," Ashley whined, "Mother insists that a proper date with Ethan lasts at least three hours."

Spencer was beginning to understand Ashley's rebellion more and more. Who forced their daughter to go out on dates with minimum time limits with a sleaze ball with no personality? Especially when they clearly weren't even attracted to men.

"So what do you want to do then?" Spencer asked.

Ashley snuck a glance at her phone. "6:00 PM on a Saturday night..." She chewed on her bottom lip softly, staring off into the distance as she thought. Spencer fought the urge to stare and instead glanced at her own watch for lack of anything better to do. Technically it was 18:12 hours, but she knew better than to try to explain the importance of proper scheduling to Ashley Davies.

After a moment, Ashley's face lit up and she gave Spencer one of her most mischievous nose crinkling smiles. "Well I do know this one spot that I haven't been able to hit up in a while…"

Spencer had to fight hard to contain a sigh. She really wasn't in the mood to chase Ashley around through a throng of pulsating sweaty bodies tonight, especially when she was supposed to have had the evening to herself. "I didn't think that clubs in the District opened this early." She tried to keep her voice as neutral as possible.

Ashley actually snorted, "Please Sarge, try and contain your excitement. I know how much you love Gray," she patted Spencer softly on the head, "But I've got something else in mind. This place is a real zoo! Come on!" She wrapped her hand around Spencer's wrist and pulled her towards the waiting car at the end of the alley.

* * *

Ashley wished she'd had to foresight to prepare her camera to capture the look on Spencer's face when she realized that the "real zoo" Ashley was referring to was the Smithsonian's National Zoological Park.

Priceless.

Ashley loved the zoo. It was one of her favorite non-historical places in the whole city. She was barely able to contain her excitement as the smell of popcorn and the musky scent of animals eased the memory of tonight's earlier actives from her mind.

She glanced over her shoulder to ensure that the Marine was keeping up with her.

"See most people go straight for the pandas," Ashley pointed in the direction of a small enclosure with hoards jostling for position at the edge of the fence. "They're all right, but they're really not much to look at, even the babies. They spend 99 percent of their time sleeping or eating bamboo, and less than 1 percent actually doing cute things like sneezing and freaking out mama bear."

Sergeant Carlin looked confused but said nothing. "Wait!" Ashley slid to a halt in the middle of the pathway, forcing the other zoo goers to veer off around her and her bodyguard. She threw up her hands in disbelief. "Come on, even _you_ had to have seen that video!"

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "Apparently not. I have no idea what you are talking about." She crossed her arms across her chest.

"_Not that that's anything new_," the Marine muttered as an afterthought.

"Hey!" Ashley retorted automatically, "I have ears you know. Really sexy ones too!" Had Sergeant Stuffypants actually just lightened up for two and a half second? Between this and her clutch rescue at dinner, Ashley had to admit that maybe the tall Marine was growing on her.

She whipped out her iPhone, pulled up her favorites on YouTube, pressed play and shoved the device into Spencer's face.

Spencer took half a step back to get the screen into focus and begrudgingly watched the video, her arms still crossed. Ashley grinned wryly, searching the Marine's stoic face, mentally ticking off the second until…

"_Achoo!"_ …the tiny panda in the video sneezed, starling its bamboo-munching mother. Ashley had watched the video enough times to know what was happening without even being able to see it. Its cuteness had been able to bring a smile to her face even when Christine was at her worst and most stifling.

Even Spencer was not immune to its cuteness. The Marine was unable to hide her smile and even let out what sounded suspiciously like a snort.

"So you _do_ have a soul," Ashley teased. "Good to know."

She stuffed her phone back into the pocket of her coat and set off once again in the direction of her favorite exhibit. It was at the opposite end of the zoo from the entrance where Willie had dropped them off, and though her heels were starting to hurt her feet, nothing was going to stop Ashley from salvaging this night.

"So if not the pandas, where are we going then?" Carlin asked from beside her. The zoo was obviously having a positive effect on her normally tight-lipped shadow. Spencer was almost acting like a companion, rather than bodyguard.

"To see my favorite animals," Ashley replied. They were approaching the enclosure now, so she let the animals speak for themselves. Unlike the crowds by the Giant Panda exhibit, there were only a handful of other visitors here.

"Otters?" Spencer asked, as she stepped up next to Ashley to lean against the fence separating them from the watery enclosure below.

"Otters." Ashley confirmed with a grin. The exhibit was home to a small troop of six little otters who were currently playing what looked like tag. They were sailing through the water chasing one another, occasionally bringing their game up onto dry land to carry on with their acrobatics on the rocks.

"So why otters?" The Marine asked her, tracking the small mammals with her sharp eyes.

Ashley answered easily. "Otters are just chill and care-free. They do what they want and don't care who is watching. They always seem to have good time doing whatever it is that they're doing."

She leaned down to rest her chin on the fence. She was suddenly very tired.

She felt a hand rest softly on her shoulder. "Are you okay Ashley?" Her bodyguard asked, with what sounded like real concern. A glance up confirmed that the Marine genuinely seemed to care how she was doing.

It was nice.

"Thanks," Ashley blurted before she realized what she was saying, "You know, for earlier."

The Marine shrugged, leaning forward to rest her elbows against the railing so she was closer to Ashley's level.

"I'm in your corner, you know if you'll let me be."

Ashley thought that maybe that didn't sound so bad after all.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Maybe it's time for a change – and a little background.**

* * *

After finally reaching a sort of truce with their young wards, life had become a little easier for Spencer and Chelsea. They were finally settling into their new roles at the White House. Now that she had learned the basic ropes of how the Secret Service operated, Spencer felt like it was time to start some quality improvement.

The Secret Service had been protecting presidents and their families for decades now, and the Marine couldn't help but notice that their methods were somewhat archaic. If Spencer had learned anything in Afghanistan, it was that those who did not adapt their tactics to a changing environment were asking for trouble.

It was this mindset that gave Spencer the courage to bring the first of her suggestions to the attention of her commanding officer.

"Sir, I wonder if we might make a request?" Spencer asked Colonel Michaels when they met for their next debrief, this time at his office at the Pentagon. There was only a hint of hesitation in her voice.

"You can ask, but I cannot promise to agree," Colonel Michaels responded fairly. He rubbed his clean-shaven chin and leaned forward to hear what they had to say. It was enough encouragement for Spencer to go on.

"Corporal Lewis and I have discussed the matter extensively, and we believe that we will be better able to serve the needs of the Davies sisters by dressing in civilian clothing. We believe that in plain clothes, we would not only draw less attention to the presence of the POTUS's daughters out in public, but we might also foster less resistance to our presence from our charges."

The colonel took a moment to ponder this suggestion. It was certainly unusual for active duty Marines to work out of uniform, but it was also unusual for Marines to serve as bodyguards to two unruly college-aged girls. Ultimately, as the commanding officer in charge of the operation, it was his call.

"Hmmm," the old man leaned back in his chair, inclining his head towards the ceiling as he thought out loud. "The uniform of the Marine Corps is an important part of who we are. It commands respect and reminds those who might interfere with our work of exactly who they are dealing with. On the other hand, one cannot forget the element of surprise and the value of concealment. MARPAT fatigues are an asset in the desert, so perhaps civilian attire would be equally appropriate camouflage for the District of Columbia."

"Permission granted… with reservations," he finally relented. Spencer and Chelsea nodded immediately, waiting to hear the colonel's ruling.

"You must wear clothing that will allow you carry and conceal your usual side arms and that will not restrict your movement. I believe this is rather common sense, but I've got to be sure we're clear on the issue. None of those – what does my wife call them? Strappy sandals." He offered them a sheepish smile.

"Yes sir, of course sir," Spencer replied, letting a grin of her own slip. She wondered what Ashley would have to say about the change in wardrobe. Whatever it was, it was sure to be hyperbolic and overly dramatic.

"All right, one last update before I send you on your way ladies," The colonel twirled his chair over to a file cabinet, opened a draw and pulled out a manila file. He opened the file on his desk and turned it so that the "Top Secret" stamped documents inside were facing the two junior Marines.

"Our friends over at the Central Intelligence Agency have given us another name to add to the list of people who seek to harm the President and her family dead."

Chelsea leaned in to take a closer look at the document. "Is that Russian?" She asked, squinting at the foreign characters.

"Indeed," replied the colonel. He flipped through the thick file before stopping on a large blurry photo of what looked like four men huddled in an alleyway. None of their faces were visible.

"Though the language is Russian, the country is Kyrgyzstan. Our sources tell us that there have been whispers that a certain black-market arms dealer in the former Soviet Republic has been asking all sorts of questions about the White House and its occupants. We don't have any names or faces, so it's not too much to go on, but it's worth giving you a heads-up about."

"Kyrgyzstani arms dealers," Chelsea wondered aloud. "I suppose we'll just have to add them to the list of people to keep an eye out for, along with North Korean spies, al-Qaeda agents, and overly enthusiastic Japanese Purple Venom fans."

The colonel chuckled. "It's getting to be quite the list!" He stood from his chair and Spencer and Chelsea followed his lead.

"We'll keep an eye out for anything and anyone, just in case," Spencer joked. Being ready for anything was pretty much the job description after all. Still, these sorts of security updates were important, no matter how vague. You never knew which piece of intelligence was going to save your life or the lives of those in your care.

"That a girl!" The colonel replied cheerfully. "All right now, off you go. You are dismissed!"

After a sharp salute, Spencer and Chelsea made their exit.

"I can't believe he went for it!" Chelsea nearly squealed in the most un-Marine like of ways. Spencer humored her friend's excitement. She was pretty darn excited herself.

"Real clothes," she replied dreamily. "Wait a second," she cut herself short. "I don't even _have_ any real clothes here!"

Chelsea laughed. "Me neither. I guess we'll have to arrange for our stuff to be sent from home. But in the meantime, you know what this means?" She had a mischievous, child-like grin.

"_Shopping_?" Spencer asked hopefully.

"_Shopping."_ Chelsea confirmed.

"Let's go tonight, after we get off work," Spencer suggested as they made their way through the maze of corridors that was the Pentagon. "Ashley's dragged me to enough places that I know where – _umph_!"

Out of nowhere, a solid form with her nose buried in a notebook unexpectantly appeared from around a corner and crashed right into Spencer. Though both Spencer and the woman who ran into her remained on their feet, the stack of files that the woman was carrying fell into a mess on the floor.

"My apologizes ma'am," Spencer said as she got down onto her knees to help the other woman, whose uniform Spencer could now see what that of a senior Marine.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going," The woman responded, finally looking up.

"I… Spencer?" The Marine asked, big brown eyes widening with recognition under bluntly cut bangs.

* * *

_...4 years earlier..._

_When her grandpa had told her stories about what it would be like at Paris Island, "Hot as Hell" had been an expression he used all too frequently and with a sort of pained emphasis. Spencer found the description to be all too accurate._

_As eighteen year old Spencer Carlin stepped down off the bus that had carrier her from the airport to the Marine Recruit Depot at Paris Island, South Carolina, it was like stepping into a sauna. She could see the flickering ghost of shadows made from air heated from the black top of the parking lot rising into the sky. The exhaust from the long line of busses didn't help the matter. She could already feel perspiration forming on the back of her neck and she wasn't even in the heavy uniform recruits were required to wear yet._

_When Admiral Carlin had finally come to terms with the fact that her daughter was choosing to put off college to enlist in the Marine Corps instead of seeking a commission in the Navy, she had asked a few of her Marine colleagues to help Spencer prepare for the intensive training she was about to begin. Nothing that any of the Marines had told her fully prepared her for the moment at hand._

_Even before both feet were firmly set on Paris Island soil, there was already someone screaming in her face. Lucky for Spencer, she was prepared for this. The sound of sniffling noses and chattering teeth informed her that some of her fellow recruits were only now discovering what the next few months of their lives would be like._

_Spencer felt like she was in a fog as a Gunnery Sergeant with a name tag that read "Peters" gripped her shoulder in a tight grasp and lead/shoved her into a line behind a stocky Hispanic girl and next to a short black girl with trembling knees but resolved fists._

_There were a series of yellow foot prints lined up into columns indicating where recruits should be standing. As Spencer lined up her sneakers with the larger prints on the ground, she took a moment to appreciate how many Marines had stood in this very place before her. She wondered if the prints had been here back when her grandfather arrived at the beginning of World War II. Maybe her grandfather had stood exactly where she was standing right now, feeling as nervous and green as she was feeling._

_She squared her shoulders and held her head high. If Grampa Carlin could do this, so could she. It was in her blood._

_The afternoon passed in a blur of information sessions and long lines waiting for haircuts, uniforms, and health tests. Though their physical training would not officially begin until the next morning, the Drill Instructors wasted no time in educating and disciplining their new recruits._

_By the time the recruits were finally segregated by gender and led to their sleeping quarters, Spencer was dead on her feet and more than a little annoyed with her fellow recruits. Anytime anyone did anything that upset their Drill Instructor, Gunnery Sergeant Peters, they all ended up paying._

_Take right now for instance. Spencer was forcing her shaking arms through another set of twenty push-ups because that last set of twenty the group had been charged with (thanks to some idiot who decided to chew gum during a briefing), had been quote, "the most disturbing display of pussy shit," that Gunnery Sergeant Peters had quote, "ever had the misfortunate assignment to look upon."_

_Spencer had to admit that the DI had somewhat of a point. The only other girl in the barracks who could do a proper set of push-ups was her neighbor and new bunk-mate, the black girl she had been standing next to on the yellow footprints._

_When the recruits were finally give a free moment to settle into the new quarters, her neighbor approached her._

_"That looked easy for you," the girl laughed, gesturing with an exhausted arm to the floor where they had spent far too much of their evening. "You've got guns of steel girl!"_

_Spencer brushed off the complement. "Not really, I just come from a military family. No way in hell my mom was going to let me come here and wash out. Once I decided to enlist, she started making me do push-ups every time I walked through a doorway. "_

_"That doesn't sound crazy at all," the girl replied with a grin._

_"No crazier than signing up for this summer camp," Spencer agreed, feeling quickly comfortable with the girl's easy manner. Her bunkmate looked young, about Spencer's own age. "What about you? You seemed to be putting on a little bit of a gun show yourself."_

_The girl rolled her eyes, reaching up to massage one of her presumably aching pectoral muscles. "My high school basketball coach made us give her fifty push-ups for every foul shot we missed a game – and man did I suck at free throws."_

_"You played basketball?" Spencer asked skeptically. The girl was solidly built, to be sure, but she was on the short side. Her new uniform pants billowed out from where they were tucked into the top of her boots._

_"Hey, watch it! I'm a lot taller than I look," the girl laughed easily. "I was mainly a perimeter player, 3-point marksman."_

_"One of my brothers played basketball in high school, well he still does for Navy over at Annapolis, but he always said that the closest thing in the civilian world to boot camp is basketball practice after losing a game you should have won."_

_"Damn," the girl smiled ruefully, "And here I though this summer was going to be one long slumber party."_

_Spencer laughed, enjoying the girl's easy sense of humor. "I'm Spencer Carlin," she stuck out her hand. "Cleveland, Ohio."_

_"Chelsea Lewis. Los Angeles, California." She gripped Spencer's hand in a firm but non-aggressive shake._

_Spencer would have liked to have more time to get to know her first friend, but when a Drill Instructor spoke, it was impossible not to hear them and even more impossible not to nearly jump out of your boots._

_"Listen up recruits," Gunnery Sergeant Peters bellowed in a voice Spencer would have never imagined could have come from such a tiny woman. The DI gestured behind her, drawing another uniformed figure forward._

_Spencer's breath caught. The deepest smokey brown eyes she had ever seen appeared to be looking right at her. Spencer's heart jumped into her throat as a different kind of butterflies took flight in her gut._

_"This woman right here is about to become the second most important woman in your life! Sergeant Sanchez will be assisting me in attempting to turn you pansy-asses into Marines. Though she is not technically one of your Drill Instructors, you will be begging to crawl back into your mother's wombs if any of you so much as look at her funny."_

_Spencer swallowed down a lump in her throat. She was in for one hell of a summer, because she wasn't sure it was possible for her to NOT look a Sergeant Sanchez funny._

* * *

As she pushed herself back to her feet, Spencer did not miss the fact that woman she now recognized as Carmen Sanchez was giving her a subtle once-over.

She noticed a new bar on Carmen's rank insignia that hadn't been there the last time they had seen one another, almost four years ago. "Staff Sergeant Sanchez," she managed to rasp out through the shock of the unexpected reunion. Spencer wasn't quite sure what to say. She took an awkward half step backwards.

"Spencer Carlin," Carmen gave a tiny laugh of disbelief. "How have you been?"

How had she been? That was really a loaded question, now wasn't it? Apparently Carmen was going to drag this encounter out.

As she often did when faced with unsettling social situations, Spencer decided that proper military decorum was the best way to handle the situation.

"Very good ma'am." She replied curtly. She hoped that Carmen would take her formality as a clear indication that she was not particularly interested in talking.

Talking with Carmen, after all, was never _just_ talking. Spencer felt like she should have learned that lesson by now. Yet somehow she couldn't bring herself to make her excuses and go a clean escape.

Carmen reached out and brushed the insignia sewn onto Spencer's sleeve, letting her fingers linger on her bicep. "Looks like the years have been good to you Sergeant," she said, making note of Spencer's significant rank advancement since they had last spoken.

From beside her, Chelsea cleared her throat none too subtly.

Carmen glanced over to the other Marine as if she was just noticing the girl was there for the first time. She was still slow to pull her hand back from Spencer's arm.

"My apologizes Corporal, I didn't see you there," Carmen replied in a particularly unconvincing tone. "So good to see another familiar face from Paris Island. The name is Linus, isn't it?"

"Lewis," Chelsea replied coolly, stepping forward to wedge herself somewhat between Spencer and the Staff Sergeant. Spencer found that it made it a little easier for her to breathe. God, did she love her best friend.

"Right," Carmen gave a gravelly chuckle. "_Lewis_, how could I forget? To this day, I don't think I ever heard a Gunny yell any recruit's name quite as much as Peters yelled yours…" She tapered off, apparently remembering what exactly Chelsea had done to get on the bad side of the legendary Gunnery Sergeant Peters.

Carmen at least had the decency to look away from Chelsea's measured gaze, though she made no sign of moving aside to let them pass on their way.

She focused back on Spencer. "So, have you been stationed here in the city?" She hefted the stack of files in her hands. "Never took you for a paper pusher. You were always more… hands on." She quirked her lip in a half smile.

Given their history, Spencer was half inclined to say the same about Carmen, but she kept her mouth shut. It was becoming hard to keep her expression even with all of her conflicted feelings. Sometimes it felt like life was so much simpler when she was isolated in the desert…

Spencer was glad when Chelsea jumped in to answer for her, "Special Assignment." She kept her response general and brief, just as they had been taught in special operations training after boot camp.

Lewis to the rescue again.

"Ah," Carmen replied, realizing that she wasn't going to get anything more from the tense corporal.

Carmen had flicked her gaze over to Chelsea for no more than half a second, opting instead to hold uncomfortable eye contact with Spencer. Spencer found it hard to look away from the enigmatic, once familiar eyes of her superior officer.

"I would love to have a chance to catch up with you sometime Spence," Carmen all but cooed. "Maybe trade a few war stories over coffee?"

"Uh," Spencer stammered. She swore that she once had the ability to form coherent sentences. She darted her gaze around, hoping that none of the passersby were noticing Carmen's thinly veiled attempts at flirting. This was not the place or time for this conversation.

Carmen apparently took her stutter for some sort of affirmative. She shifted the manila envelopes under her arm and scribbled a phone number down onto a scrap of paper which she had the audacity to slip into Spencer's breast pocket.

"Call me," Sanchez purred before slinking her way around the corner and out of site.

Spencer found that she could breathe again.

"I'm sorry for that back there," She told Chelsea as they finally made their way outside into the cool autumn breeze.

"Not like you knew she would be there," Chelsea replied easily. Spencer could tell by the tight way her friend was holding her arms by her side that Chelsea was not nearly as nonchalant about the encounter as she was trying to appear to be.

"I feel like I should have handled that better, and not gone all deer-in-the-headlights on you."

"That girl has nerve," Chelsea fumed, laying the blame on the other party as any good friend should. Not that she was really wrong… "In the Pentagon, of all places. She's got trouble written all over her Spence."

"She hasn't changed a bit," Spencer agreed. She couldn't decide what that meant about how Spencer felt about her. What she did know was that Carmen was still as dangerously attractive as ever.

"You're not thinking of calling her though, are you?" Chelsea was giving her a skeptical glare. Spencer wondered what her own expression had looked like.

"No," she replied quickly. "Of course not. No."

She pulled the slip of paper out of her pocket and let it flap once, twice in the breeze before she let it fly.

Together the two Marines watched as a strong gust carried the telephone number off towards the interstate that ran alongside the Pentagon. "Not a chance."

But the number was already burned into her memory, damn military training. It danced at the back of her eye lids, taunting her.

"That girl is bad news Spence, don't make me remind you about that. After the way you two left things, I have to say that that was not the way I expected that run-in to go. She was way too cozy, if you know what I mean." Chelsea broke away from her to get into the other side of their borrowed Secret Service SUV.

"You're telling me," Spencer muttered as she slipped into the passenger seat.

Yet even if her complicated relationship with Carmen had never really made sense, it was intense in a way that Spencer had yet to feel anything comparable since.

She knew Carmen was nothing but trouble, she really did.

But it didn't stop Spencer from being drawn to her anyway.

* * *

The next morning when she opened the door to let their Marine guards into her and Kyla's apartment, Ashley Davies found herself doing a double-take.

Hell, she did a triple-take, unable to believe what she was seeing.

Instead of their usual beige bland-suits, GI Jane and her partner in crime looked normal.

No – Ashley had to admit that that was an understatement. Sergeant Carlin looked better than normal – she was hot?

In soft brown boots, skinny jeans and a loose fitting navy blazer rolled up at the sleeves, Spencer was effortlessly beautiful. Her hair, instead of being contained in the usual severe bun, was neatly wrapped in a loose French braid. It was much longer than Ashley would have imagined and looked silky smooth.

"Wha…?" She had definitely started out with the intent of asking a complete and competent sounding question, but she didn't quite make it. She pinched herself to make sure she wasn't in a coma or something and just dreaming up this rather unexpected turn of events up.

Who know what the hell her subconscious could do? Once she had had the most vivid daydream that she had turned the White House into the Playboy mansion. Things that seemed too crazy to be true usually were.

Pinching herself just made her arm hurt. She was definitely awake.

Carlin had the audacity to smirk at her antics.

Damn her. Ashley's bristle helped clear her mind.

"The only logical explanation for all of this," she swept her hands in wide circles in the general direction of the Marines, finally finding her voice, "Was that I apparently missed an episode of Extreme Makeover, bodyguard edition."

"I think what my sister is trying to say," Kyla interrupted, appearing just behind Ashley's shoulder, "Is that you ladies look great and we both will appreciate avoiding some of the attention your uniforms attracted." Kyla translated.

"After months of khakis and fatigues, I think we're on the same page about the wardrobe," Corporal Lewis agreed.

"Well, all right then," Ashley stalled, trying to buy some time to get her head on straight and subtly wipe away the drool that had somehow appeared on her lower lip. She pushed past the Marines and made her way out the door. "Let's get this new show on the road."

It didn't take Ashley long to decide that she liked this turn of events. On campus, she noticed that she and Kyla were able to melt back into the crowd in a way they hadn't been able to with suited or otherwise uniformed bodyguards.

…Or she _would have _noticed, if she hadn't been so busy sneaking glances at Carlin.

She was just getting used to it, that's what she kept telling herself. Carlin's attractiveness was just a result of the relative blandness of her former attire. Ashley refused to admit that Spencer had even looked good in her poorly-tailored uniform and that now she looked even better.

Instead of focusing on things like the way Spencer's blue v-neck brought out her eyes, or the way her jeans hugged slim, endless legs, Ashley turned her creative mind to the possibilities the Marine's new wardrobe offered for her social life.

* * *

That night, Ashley and Kyla decided to celebrate their new-found freedom from blatantly obvious bodyguards with a night at Gray.

Now in street clothes, Ashley noticed that Spencer blended more readily into the crowd. She fit in with the young crowd so much so that her old habit of standing stoically a few feet from Ashley surrounded by a sea of thrashing bodies was no longer working. She'd lost the respect of the uniform and apparently had to adapt her surveillance tactics.

Though Ashley was more than happy to distract herself with all of the girls who regularly competed for her attention at Gray nights, she found herself keeping an eye on her Marine from time to time.

Spencer had waved off more than a handful of guys herself before finally seeming to decide that it was easier just to pick one and ward off the other ones from distracting her from keeping an eye on Ashley.

Ashley decided that there was something not quite right about seeing Spencer being grinded on by some guy. It was probably because she was way too hot for the guy she had settled on. He was just an average Joe, nowhere up to her level.

Ashley gave herself a little shake realizing that she was being distracted from much more important things. Namely the hot Asian chick whose hands were deftly making their way under her shift.

A few drinks into her night, Ashley was interrupted from her foreplay dance party with the petite beauty by unwanted man hands gripping her hips and pulling her back against a distinctly male pelvis.

Ashley turned to glare at the intruder. He was exactly the kind of guy she hated – a frat star rocking a pastel polo and chinos. He was sweaty, grabby, and way too proud of himself for getting handsy. He gave her a patronizing smile, raised his hands in mock surrender and made a modest retreat, grabbing another girl a few feet away to dance with instead.

Ashley turned back and wrapped her arms back around the waist of the girl she was dancing with.

But the bloke poke retuned.

She turned around again, this time giving the loser a shove to get him to back off. "Not interested," she shouted over the roar of the DJ's turntable.

"I think you'll find that I can be_ very_ interesting," the frat star slurred, taking a firm grip on her waist and pulling against the bulge in the front of his pants.

"Take your mangy paws off me before I make you," Ashley growled, recoiling from his body. She tried to push away from his sweaty chest, but his grip on her hips and now butt were throwing off her center of balance.

"Oh God," he growled, "I love a girl who plays hard to get… though your warm-up with your gal pal over there definitely has me hard already. Why don't the two of you come home with me tonight? A good time will be had by all, I promise." He let his tongue poke out between his teeth.

By now the look in his eyes had Ashley a little nervous. She pushed again against his admittedly broad chest but to no avail.

"Let go of me!" She growled again, this time hearing the edge of panic in her own voice.

"God, I love it when women squirm…" But if frat star had anything more to say, he was cut off by the sudden appearance of a well-muscled arm snaking forward from behind him to wrap around his neck. His legs were kicked in from behind and he fell hard on his knees.

As his eyes began to bulge and his face turned red from a lack of oxygen, he released his hold on Ashley to pull futilely at the bicep holding him in a vice-like choke hold.

Spencer's head darted forward, resting on his shoulder. It looked like the Marine was whispering something in his ear as the large co-ed started to collapse in her arms. The glint in her blue eyes was calculating and hard. Within seconds, the frat-star's eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped further to the ground.

The Marine released her tight grip on his neck and head, letting his dead-weight fall to her feet. She stepped forward and wrapped a gentle arm around Ashley's waist, starting to lead her off the dance floor, even as two suited Secret Service auxiliary agents pushed through the oblivious crowd around them to more thoroughly detain Ashley's unwanted dance partner.

"Let's go!" Spencer yelled into her ear over the roar of the music. Ashley, still in shock, let herself be led.

* * *

Spencer did not remove her arm from Ashley's waist until they reached one of Gray's emergency exits. It led out to the side alley where the Davies sister's Secret Service chauffeur was waiting with the car.

"Carlin, Lewis," Ashley heard Carlin call into her earpiece. "There was a situation. Time to call it a night."

Sergeant Carlin finally turned to inspect Ashley, cursively checking her over for injuries. "Are you all right?" She finally asked with what sounded like real concern.

Ashley was shaken, which meant that she was feeling snippy. "I'm fine. I was handling that," she barked at her bodyguard.

Sergeant Carlin looked unconvinced. "That is not what it looked like from where I was standing." She stepped back and crossed her arms across her chest. Ashley found herself looking at them, wondering what other tricks that Marine had up her sleeves – literally.

"Yeah well," Ashley sputtered, adrenaline still high, "You didn't have to kill the guy and make a scene!"

"Wow now," Carlin put her arms out in front of her, gesturing for Ashley to calm down. "First of all, that was about as discrete as I could be without compromising your safety. The people around you didn't even notice what was going on. Second, he's not dead, just unconscious… and obviously very stupid."

Ashley was a little relieved. The guy was a douche, but she didn't think he deserve to die for being stupid, drunk and horny. She'd been there herself, after all. "Yeah, well, then thanks for ruining my night!"

"You are more than welcome." Spencer answered as if Ashley's thanks had been sincere.

Ashley felt her defensive temper flare, but her bodyguard was spared her wrath by the appearance of her sister.

The sound of the club momentarily became louder as Ashley, Madison and Corporal Lewis slipped out the back door of Gray.

"Ash are you okay?" Kyla asked, rushing over the wrap her sister in a tight hug.

"I'm fine, everything's fine," Ashley calmed down, seeing how upset Kyla appeared. Big sister instincts took over as she soothed her little sis.

The car ride home was long and quiet. Even Madison had surprisingly little to say.

When the SUV pulled to a stop in the subterranean garage of the White House, Ashley had hoped to make a clean escape with her dignity. It was not to happen.

"Ms. Davies, may I have a word." Spencer was giving her one of her solemn, serious looks. Ashley was still pissed at her, but how was she supposed to ignore that look? Deep down she understood that her anger was being misdirected.

She let her sister and Corporal Lewis go on ahead as she lingered behind. She gave Spencer a nod to indicate that she would at least hear her out.

"Look, Ms. Davies, I apologize if you felt like I overstepped my bounds," Spencer began, "But I will not apologize for protecting you. My job is to keep you safe. I saw a threat and I dealt with that threat. "

"All in a day's work for G.I. Jane," Ashley rolled her eyes. Apparently you could take the girl out of the uniform, but you couldn't take the uniform out of the girl. Or something.

Ashley searched the Marine's face. "I could have handled that you know. You didn't have to come galloping in on your white horse or tank or whatever you Marines use for transportation these days. You've got a hero-complex, don't you?"

She didn't give Spencer a chance to protest. "We're going to have to work on that Carlin. For now we'll just add it onto the long list of your annoying displays of character."

Ashley was rewarded with an eye roll. "Okay, well then please tell me, what were you going to do?" Spencer stared at her expectantly.

"Knee him in in the balls." Ashley nodded, agreeing with herself that her BS retort didn't actually sound like a bad idea.

"And _if_ you had done that at any point within the ten seconds that his groin was within range, I would have applauded your enterprise," Spencer replied, "But you were frightened, and you didn't do that."

"I was not frightened," Ashley retorted, more for the fact that she had to keep up her reputation as a bad-ass than because it was true. It wasn't true at all, actually.

Spencer reached out and slipped a gentle grip around Ashley's wrist. They both paused, feeing her still-pounding pulse belie her bold words. Ashley yanked her arm back half-heartedly.

"It's okay that you were," Spencer told her softly. "I was too - frightened that he was maybe more than just some drunk co-ed looking to score. But I have training, instincts that help me to act when emotions get in the way."

"Well gee, when you put it like that, it makes you sound even more like a robot than you already are."

Spencer shrugged, "Sometimes emotions are less than helpful in my line of work."

Ashley studied her bodyguard. "That's actually kind of sad. It can't be normal."

For a moment, Spencer almost looked like she reluctantly agreed. "It is what it is. It's just how I am now." She returned the conversation to its original topic. Her eyes were serious. "Look, if I have to choose between being right and protecting you, I'll be wrong every time. That's just how it is."

The Marine walked away, leaving Ashley where she was left rooted in place by the intensity of her bodyguard's words.

* * *

**A/N: Hey all! Sorry for the long wait! I'm in a rather intensive program of study and it takes over my life from time to time. I can't say it won't happen again, but I can tell you that I have around 25,000 more words of this story already written and waiting for polish, so there is a lot more where this came from. Bear with me! Thanks for all of your encouraging reviews! ~gottaget**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: So what **_**is**_** the deal with Carmen? Let's find out.**

* * *

For about the ten millionth time in her life, Kyla Davies had the uncomfortable twisting feeling of her loyalty to her sister and her loyalty to her mother coming into conflict.

"Come on Ash, this won't be so bad," she began. She had been trying her best to cheer up her sister all afternoon, but there was little that ever seemed to cheer Ashley up on a day like today.

"Doubtful," Ashley mumbled from the other seat where her head was resting up against the cool window of the Secret Service SUV. She did not take her eyes off the flickering brownstones passing by as they drove through a residential part of the city on their way toward the convention center.

"Hey, less than a year of these left and then win or lose, no more campaign fundraisers ever again," Kyla tried again.

They were on their way towards one of the first official fundraisers for their mother's campaign for re-election next fall. Though Christine had been collecting donors and support throughout her first term of presidency, this was the first official event of her campaign and she had insisted that both of her daughters be there to show their support, despite Ashley's understandable desires to be literally anywhere else today.

"Doubt it," Ashley scoffed, sparing her a disbelieving glance before turning back toward the window. She looked so worn. "Even if she loses, you really think she's ever going to give up this power trip she's on? She's had a taste, I'm surprised she isn't already vying for dictator of the world."

In the seat behind them, Kyla heard either Chelsea or Spencer shift uncomfortably. Kyla had learned long ago that there was no keeping secrets from the Secret Service (or their Marine replacements in this case). In fact, when she stopped and thought about it, Chelsea probably knew as much about her personal and family life at this point as even Ashley did. It was a good thing Kyla liked her good-natured shadow as much as she did, and even more important, that she felt she could trust Chelsea with her secrets.

"Ash," Kyla warned. If her sister starting off on this train of thought, she would whip herself into a frenzy and be sure to do something she would regret at the fundraiser.

Kyla was the only person who ever dared to step into the crossfire between her mother and sister, but more and more she felt herself getting closer to Ashley and more distant from Christine. She wasn't sure if she would ever truly forgive her mother for forcing Ashley to hide who she was. The fact that she was holding Raife's money over her head to get her to do it was basically blackmail and now that she was in the hunt for another four years of the presidency, it was all too much to ask from anyone.

"It's just a few hours," Kyla tried again to lift her sister's spirits. "Make it through this, and you and I will go out and do the rest of the night right."

"I bet she doesn't even remember," Ashley muttered, sounding resigned to being forgotten and swept under the rug again.

"I'm sure she does," Kyla replied, not completly sure if she was lying or not. "But it's not like you make an effort to let anyone know." Ever since their father had died, Ashley had wrapped herself in a tough shell of sarcasm and nonchalance. Kyla figured that Ashley viewed days like today as a test – to see who really cared in her life.

"If people thought it was worth knowing about, they'd know. I'm not going to be the one to bring it up."

So many people failed Ashley's silent tests. Today for example, aside from Kyla herself and a few text-messages from Madison, for Ashley it was looking like a day just like any other. It pained Kyla to see her write everyone around her off as the unfeeling enemy, especially when she never seemed to give anyone a chance – not when Ashley had to open herself up to getting hurt again to do it.

Kyla didn't know what more she could say. She softly bowed her head against her sister's turned shoulder and wrapped an arm around her waist, trying to tell her without words how much she cared.

They completed the rest of the short ride to the fundraiser in silence.

* * *

Though Aiden and the other Secret Service agents had drilled Spencer and Chelsea to be prepared for the security logistics of the ten-thousand dollar per plate fundraiser dinner, Spencer was no way near prepared for the over-the-top luxury of the event.

There was an ice statue of an elephant. The silverware was plated with gold. Chuck Norris was there wearing a tuxedo, along with countless high-ranking military leaders who made Spencer nervous with just their presence.

She stifled the urge to scratch her leg as she stood at attention just to the side of Ashley and Kyla's table at front of the ballroom. It was the first occasion she'd had to wear her Dress Blues in over a year and the little used uniform was exacting its revenge for being stuffed in storage for so long.

While she felt more than a little out-of place surrounded by so much luxury, Spencer couldn't help but notice how well Ashley seemed to fit into the glamorous world around her. She was wearing a killer midnight blue gown that was giving Spencer a distracting view of her back thanks to a plunging rear neck line. Her curls were artfully sculpted into an up-do with a few strands left out to drape delicately down the nape of her neck.

And yet somehow, Ashley managed to look miserable even from behind.

The elder Davies had been quiet and sullen all morning, not even finding the spark to make a comment about Spencer's return to uniform before they left for the formal black tie event. Her mood had continued to plummet throughout the evening and now that the fundraiser had moved away from dessert and on toward a post-meal cocktail, Ashley looked about halfway between wanting to cry and wanting to punch someone in the face.

Spencer wished there was something she could say to cheer her charge up, but the formality of the occasion kept her firmly rooted in her place against the wall. At least Kyla was there to try to raise Ashley's spirits. Spencer would have to try her hand at cheering Ashley up later – that was if she could figure out why exactly Ashley was acting the way she was acting in the first place.

Spencer forced herself to stop staring at the Ashley's lower back and drew her attention back to her work. All of the unfamiliar faces in the large crowd had her a little on edge. These types of events were not ideal for security details.

On the other side of the table, she could see Aiden and Shawn, the Presidential detail for the evening, twitching every time another donor shouldered their way to the front of the hall to shake hands with President Davies.

Spencer's breathe caught in her throat when she realized that she recognized the newest well-wisher approaching the President two seats to Ashley's left.

"Madame President, on behalf of General Hewitt who was unable to attend the dinner this evening, I wanted to thank you for your service to the country this term and ensure that you know you have the General's support in the upcoming election."

Christine stood from her seat and placed her wine glass down on the table so she could grasp the gloved hand that was extended to her. "Well, that is very good to hear," President Davies cooed in what Spencer privately referred to as her 'president of the people' show voice. "Please tell General Hewitt that I look forward to playing another round of golf with him and the Misses when they return from their trip, Sergeant…?"

"Sanchez," Carmen replied smoothly, "It really is an honor to meet you ma'am."

Running into Carmen once was a coincidence, but Spencer's special operations training told her that running into former training officer twice in one week was a not coincidence, but pattern.

Her suspicions were confirmed when Carmen's gaze flickered over the president's shoulder to meet Spencer's challenging stare. Sanchez even had the audacity to give her a cheeky grin.

"And these must be your daughters," Carmen continued giving a nod to first Kyla and then Ashley. Kyla was polite enough to stand and shake the Marine's hand, but Ashley merely offered her a distracted nod from where she remained sitting, sipping at her Sidecar. "You are a very lucky woman to have such supportive daughters, Madame President," Carmen went on. "You must care for them dearly,"

The president wrapped and arm around Kyla's shoulders and pulled her tightly to her side, dropping a sickeningly fake kiss (at least to Spencer who knew better) on the top of her youngest's head.

"Her daughters are a mother's world," Christine cooed.

Spencer, knowing the truth about the Davies family dynamic, worked hard to resist an eye roll. Now she understood why Ashley was constantly making that particular gesture.

Spencer probably would have been stirred to anger over how fake the President was, even to her closest supporters, but she was too distracted by trying to figure out what game Carmen was playing.

Spencer didn't know how the older woman had managed it, but given the numerous links in the chain of command that should have fallen between General and Staff Sergeant, it seemed unlikely that Carmen had been selected to attend this fundraiser as General Hewitt's envoy without a little legwork on her part.

Carmen Sanchez was after something, and Carmen Sanchez always got what she wanted.

* * *

_**Paris Island, Four Years Ago.**_

"_Carlin, that hunk of metal in your hands is an M16 assault riffle, not a rhythmic gymnastics baton. Hold it like a weapon girl!" Gunny Peters gave Spencer's shoulder a shove from behind, showing her that the base of the riffle was too loose against her shoulder. "This ain't cheer camp blondie!"_

_Spencer tried not to bristle. If she let the drill instructor on to the fact that she actually __**had**__ spent a handful of her middle school summers at cheer camp, she'd never hear the end of it. Two weeks into boot camp and she had learned well to hold her tongue. _

_From beside her, she felt rather than heard Chelsea smirk. Her friend had taken to rifle training like a duck to water and had an eye and steady hand that promised to earn her an Expert marksman badge one day. _

_While Spencer's grandfather had taught all of his grandchild to shoot pistols, Spencer was having a little trouble getting used to the riffle most common carried by Marines, the M16. She'd have to ask her bunkmate and battle buddy for some pointers later. _

_Spencer tried not to jump as a pair of strong arms wrapped around her to reposition her hands on the weapon she was holding. Spencer's heart quickly picked up its pace even before a quick glance over her shoulder had confirmed that it was Sergeant Sanchez's body pressed up against her own. _

"_You have to relax into the grip Carlin," Sergeant Sanchez breathed, her lips all but touching Spencer's ear. Spencer shivered involuntarily. "Your fingers just have to… caress the trigger."_

_Breathe, Carlin, Breathe! She begged her foggy mind. _

_Ever since their eyes had met across the barracks on that first night of boot camp, Spencer had thought that it was possible that Carmen Sanchez knew that Spencer was attracted to her. At first, Spencer had been terrified that after less than 24 hours on Paris Island she'd be outted, court marshaled, and tossed into prison for lying about her sexuality._

_She hadn't been able to sleep for days, which only made her sleepy and sloppy in training – attracting more unwanted attention from her drill instructors._

_But if Sergeant Sanchez knew anything about Spencer's feelings, she didn't say anything about it to Gunnery Sergeant Peters or any of the other training officers. In fact, recently, Spencer had even begun to wonder if maybe, just maybe, Sanchez returned her interest. _

_She tried to tell herself that it was stupid, that is was impossible that Sanchez, a senior Marine, was gay. It was even more impossible that someone was hot as the Latina beauty would even spare someone like Spencer a second glance._

_But there had been glances – lingering glances. And touches that weren't all together necessary._

_And now this? There was no mistaking this for NOT flirting. Not with Sergeant Sanchez's hot breath on her neck and her hips pressed up against Spencer's backside._

_The moment was over almost before it had begun, but Spencer knew she hadn't imagined it at all._

_And when Sanchez threw her a covert wink as she walked away to correct other recruits, Spencer couldn't decide whether her racing heart was telling her that this was a very bad or a very good development. _

* * *

Ashley grimaced through another sip of her Sidecar. She hated cognac, but there was a kind of melancholy to the drink that matched her mood.

It was keeping her from gagging at the site of her mother putting on a show for all of the heavy wallets in the ballroom. She didn't even know why she had to be here. Her mother had been ignoring her all evening.

Thank god Ethan had decided to get up and network after the meal had been cleared from the tables. His garrulous attention was almost worse than her mother's blatant negligence.

At the moment, Christine was chatting up a slightly built woman in what Ashley now recognized as a Marine dress uniform.

Whoever this Sanchez woman was, Ashley decided that she didn't like her. From her bluntly cut bangs to her over-exaggerated smoky eye make-up, she was rubbing Ashley the wrong way. It didn't help that the Latina was sucking up to her mother.

Ashley decided that there weren't nearly enough stripes on the woman's uniform for the attention Christine was giving her. The woman had to be the representative to some big wig.

Ashley looked back to her own Marine to see if could figure out the woman's rank by comparing her insignia to Spencer's and was surprised to see that the bodyguard looked even more tense than usual (if that was even possible). The blonde's eyes were laser focused on the other Marine who was now giving her excuses to Christine and making her way closer.

Ashley sat up straighter in her chair, turning to keep the woman in her sights as she approached Spencer.

"Sergeant Carlin, imagine seeing you here," the woman all but purred at Spencer in a gravelly voice.

"Good evening Staff Sergeant Sanchez," Spencer answered formally, but giving what looked suspiciously like a nervous swallow.

"After we ran into each other last week, I was hoping I would hear from you again. But I can't help but feel like you're playing a little hard to get." The woman laughed lightly.

_What?_

If anyone on the planet could recognize inappropriate flirting, it was Ashley Davies. Ashley knew flirting. That was flirting.

She flicked her gaze over at her bodyguard, confirming that the Marine looked the perfect mix uncomfortable and annoyed.

Spencer apparently had no reply for Sanchez's non-question and remained silent.

_Well hell yeah_. Ashley felt some stirrings of pride.

Damn right Spencer wouldn't go for that ish!

Of course, her lack of response to the flirting had absolutely nothing with Spencer being straight, or conservative, or a Marine. Obviously she just knew a lack of class when she saw it.

The Sanchez chick obviously was not as familiar with Spencer's anti-flirt face as Ashley was. Ashley figured she should step in.

"Hey, Marine lady," Ashley snapped, deciding to be a benevolent employer to her bodyguard, if only for this once. "If you want someone to guard your body, you're gonna have to look elsewhere because GI Jane over there is spoken for. Stop distracting my security!"

Sanchez had the audacity to glare at her. Ashley had the strangest feeling that the penetrating gaze was about something more than just a cock-block.

Nevertheless, Ashley glared right back.

Eventually the woman backed down from the challenge and decided to make her exit.

"Still waiting for your call Sergeant. I look forward to catching up and picking up where we left off," she said as she turned away.

Ashley let out a quiet, disbelieving snort as the Marine woman sauntered away. God, that woman had some nerve to flirt with _her_ bodyguard. She crossed her arms and gave Spencer a questioning gaze.

"Care to explain that?" Ashley asked her.

"Not particularly, Ms. Davies." Spencer replied, looking noticeably more relaxed as the Sanchez woman moved off to the other side of the ballroom.

"So how do you and Bangs over there know each other," Ashley asked, her curiosity sparked by the interaction.

Spencer hesitated, glancing around the ballroom, as if she expected someone to chastise her for being more human than robot for two seconds.

"Come on Shaniqua," Ashley bated her, knowing how much she loved her various nicknames. "I just saved your ass from an awkward moment that you know perfectly well I could have just sat back and enjoyed." Ashley didn't need to mention that she hadn't particularly liked the encounter herself and that she had actually welcomed the distraction to her otherwise miserable evening. "You owe me something.

Carlin seemed to think about it for a moment before eventually deciding to give in.

"We met in boot camp," she finally replied, looking caught up in a memory, "She was one of the officers who trained my recruit unit."

Ashley waited for her bodyguard to say more, but it seemed that for now, that was all she was going to get.

* * *

_**Paris Island, Four Years Ago**_

_Spencer was drunk – properly drunk for the first time in her life._

_Carmen had been sneaking her drinks for the better part of the evening. Their training unit was at a local bar out on the town celebrate their graduation from boot camp. It didn't matter that you were only eighteen when your secret and very illicit friend-with-benefits was tight with the bar tender._

_Because of her pleasant buzzing head, she wasn't in the right state of mind to consider the risks when she got up to use the bathroom and Carmen followed a respectable distance behind. All that Spencer knew was that she was feeling on top of the world and that the second the stall door closed behind them, Carmen's tongue was already in her mouth._

_God, the woman was like an addiction and all Spencer wanted was more. She was young – to hell with the rules!_

_She lifted Carmen up, wrapping her hands around her ass and supporting some of her weight against the restroom's singe stall door. The stall groaned in protest, but seemed as though it would hold. Not that Spencer particularly cared with Carmen sucking at her neck like that. Carmen wrapped her legs around Spencer's back and ground into her, setting Spencer's body on fire._

_The bathroom's outer door opened and closed, carrying in the noise of the crowded bar. Faintly, in the back of her mind, Spencer heard footsteps make their way across the dusty floor. _

_Sorry fellow bar patron, Spencer thought pulling Carmen closer. You are definitely going to have to hold it._

_If she had been thinking straight, Spencer might have realized that given the crowd in the bar tonight, there was some chance that the person tapping their foot outside the stall was someone who she really did not want to see her in her current position. Unfortunately between the alcohol and Carmen shoving her hand down Spencer's pants, any sort of straight thinking was way out the door._

_Spencer's pulse was racing, and everything just felt so good. Carmen's whispers that they might not get tomorrow were all that Spencer could think about. She was tired of being a good girl; she just needed a little release. She had spent the last few months in vigorous training, 24 hours a day. This morning she and her fellow recruits had just completed their training and been award the rank of Private. In a few days, she and her new unit were being deployed to Afghanistan for their first tour and further on the job training. _

_She could be dead in a week. Why shouldn't she deserve this tonight?_

_Carmen's lips swallowed her gasp as the Latina's fingers ghosted over the outside of her panties._

_There was a pounding on the stall door. Spencer could feel the vibration through Carmen's body._

"_Would you fucking hurry up in there, I have to pee!"_

_Carmen and Spencer froze at the same time. After listening to that voice yell at her for weeks at boot camp, there was no way that even drunken, horny Spencer could not know that voice._

_Gunnery Sergeant Lorraine Peters was about a half an inch of stall door away from catching one of her newest Privates hooking up with another marine – a female Marine._

_Spencer and Carmen stared at each other, wide-eyed for a moment, struggling to quiet their breathing. Spencer's foggy mind raced, trying to think of how she would explain herself. _

_Explain? If the Gunny wanted to knock down that stall door (and God knew she could) or even crouched down to look underneath, they wouldn't even be able to catch their breaths in time to provide enough reasonable doubt that they were doing exactly what it looked like they were doing._

_She was barely a real Marine and Spencer's military career was over before it began. Her sexual orientation would become very, very public when she was charged with dishonorable conduct. Don't Ask, Don't Tell wasn't all that helpful when your actions screamed to the world that you were gay. _

_Carmen spoke first, her voice husky and deep so that even Spencer did not recognize it. "Just a second."_

_They needed way more than another second. Spencer was desperate enough to look for a window that she could lift Carmen through, but the only window was outside the stall and over the sink. There was no escape. They were only delaying the inevitable._

"_You don't fucking have a second, finish the hell up!" The inebriated Gunny started to pull on the handle of the stall, trying to pop the lock._

_The door to the bathroom opened and closed again._

"_Wait! Gunnery Sergeant, don't go in there!" Was that Chelsea?_

"_And why the hell not Lewis?" It was Chelsea after all._

"_Because…" If Chelsea knew as much as Spencer suspected she did, Spencer could practically hear the wheels in her friend's head trying to explain away this situation._

_Recognizing that her friend was trying to buy them time, Spencer turned, bringing Carmen further into the darkest recesses of a stall and gesturing for her to stand on the seat. If she could somehow slip out without the training master noticing, it would be easier to explain why Carmen was locked alone in a bathroom stall then why she was locked in there with Spencer._

"_Spit it out Lewis," Peters growled._

"_Because, uh," Spencer had never heard Chelsea stammer like this. She didn't want to imagine what the Gunny looked like right now, "This is a women's bathroom, Gunnery Sergeant, and with all due respect, I, uh, really don't think you should be in here?"_

_Spencer's eyebrows shot up into her hairline and it was hard to mistake the sound of fist meeting flesh. She peaked through the creak in the stall door just in time to see the Gunnery Sergeant grab Chelsea by the lapels of her jacket and push her out through the door._

_Spencer took this as her cue to make her escape and she managed to slip out of the bathroom unnoticed, just in time to see the Gunny pulling Chelsea roughly to her feet._

_Spencer felt rather than saw Carmen slip out of the bathroom behind her and hurry over in the direction of the exit. Around the bar Marines and civilians were standing up to see what was going on._

"_I oughta rip your goddamn tongue out Lewis and shove it down your throat. No one talks to me like that, and you are about to find out why!" She gave the dazed trainee a particularly vicious shake before releasing her to fall back down on her butt. Usually the Gunnery Sergeant had better insults, and more self-control; Spencer figured she might be more than a little on the drunk side herself._

_Peters whirled to stare at the rest of the bar, red faced. Spencer was prepared for her to give the whole company punishment, but it looked like Gunnery Sergeant Peters was too mad to even think about the possibility. "Well, what the hell do you think you're looking at?"_

_The Gunny turned toward Chelsea again, grabbing her arm with more than a little force. "Lewis," the Gunny growled, "You and me are going to have some quality time contemplating the meaning of discipline and respect." She dragged Chelsea out of the bar amidst a chorus of laughter from the rest of the men._

_Chelsea never told Spencer what her punishment had been other than the vague description of being some particularly unpleasant late night PT. Spencer avoided Carmen like the plague, realizing just how close she had come to losing everything. Carmen was smart enough to ignore her in return. Things could have ended badly for them, very badly._

_After her third and final night of punishment, Chelsea looked as though she had been hit by a truck. She was barely making it through deployment briefings, and during regular training her muscles clearly not responding to her commands._

"_Why did you do that Lewis!?" Spencer asked her friend once they finally got a moment alone together._

"_Why did I do what?" Chelsea asked, barely able to keep her eyes open. She was either playing dumb, or she was so sleep deprived that she did not understand the question._

"_Why did you cover for me? I'm the one who deserves all of that crap the Gunny has been putting you through – hell, I deserve more." Spencer whispered fiercely._

"_Oh, that," Chelsea said, "Don't worry about it, I just really want to go to bed, okay?" She turned to leave, clearly wanted to end the conversation, but Spencer needed some answers._

"_Chelsea," Spencer tried again, grabbing her friend's shoulder. Chelsea sighed, realizing that Spencer wouldn't leave her alone until she got an answer. She squared her shoulders and Spencer recognized Chelsea's signature 'I'm going to tell it like it is' face._

"_Were you being stupid and horny? Yes. But was Carmen getting you drunk and trying to take advantage of you? Yeah. If you had been caught doing whatever the hell it was that you were doing in that stall together, things would be way worse for you then they are for me right now. If weathering a little heat from the training staff is what it takes to protect my friend and save the career of a Marine who I know will do great things for this country, that's what I'll do. Semper Fidelis means something to me."_

_Spencer shook her head, "I shouldn't even be here. I'm a disgrace to the Marine Corps,"_

"_Do you know what's a disgrace to the Corps?" Chelsea asked fiercely. "The fact that dozens of honorable Marines ready to fight and die for their country are being put up on trial or thrown into jail because of who they love. If you had been caught, but with a guy Marine, you'd both get slaps on the wrist and instructions to keep it in your pants and get on with your life. I don't pretend to know why the world is the way it is, but how can that be right?"_

_Spencer didn't have an answer. She'd been wondering the same thing since we was old enough to figure out that most people considered the way she felt about girls to be wrong, and that her feelings might one day interfere with her dream of becoming a decorated military officer like her grandpa._

"_Thank you," was all Spencer could say, "You don't know what this means to me."_

"_You're my friend," Chelsea replied, "We watch each other's backs." She said it like it was easy, at matter of course._

_And with Chelsea, it turned out that it was. _

_A few months later, Spencer was promoted to Private First Class while Chelsea, despite her outstanding service record, was obviously overlooked. Later officers in the field were able to overlook the minor disciplinary discrepancy on Chelsea's record and she advanced quickly, but Spencer's seniority was always a constant reminder of what she owed to her best friend._

* * *

Ashley was on about her fifth Sidecar of the night when the fundraiser seemed to be finally winding down. She had to guess it was about eleven o'clock and they had been there for hours. She had always thought that old people went to bed early, but tonight she was having no such luck. It seemed that everyone wanted a few minutes of personal time to chat with the president.

"Please, just hang in there Ash, it won't be much longer now." Kyla was rubbing a gentle hand up and down her back. "Then we can go out and really celebrate."

"Right," Ashley sighed into her drink. Like their mother would ever let that happen.

As if on cue, Christine turned away from the middle-aged suit and slightly younger suit she was talking to so that she could beckon to her daughters. Kyla at least had the energy to rise from her seat and drift over toward their mother.

"Kyla, I was just telling Ambassador Albertson that you would be more than happy to show his son a night out on the town, wouldn't you dear?"

Kyla looked like a deer in the headlines. She chanced a quick glance back over to Ashley. "You know that I love to show people around the city," Kyla began, "But mother Ashley and I, we have plans…"

Christine gave her a warning death glare.

"…that can be saved for another night when our new friends are not in town." Kyla looked torn, but she had little choice when it came to their mother's political ambitions. _Sorry_, she mouthed to Ashley. "You up for going out Ash?" She asked her sister, clearly hoping to make it up to her and salvage the night.

Before Ashley could decide whether it would be better to spend the night alone or baby-sitting the son of one of her mother's newest cronies, President Davies cut in.

"Oh I don't think that would be a good idea, especially since Ashley has been feeling under the weather all night. What a trooper, making it through the dinner to show support for her family," Ashley tried to recoil as Christine placed a palm on her forehead, as if she was a concerned mother, "You still feel quite warm dear, why don't you head to bed?"

And with the lie, Christine had a perfect excuse as to why Ashley has looked so petulant and sullen all evening - one that made the Davies family look even more tight-knit than ever. The dotting daughter, wanting to show support for her Mother's re-election campaign.

It made Ashley sudden feel physically ill.

She was done with this. She couldn't handle this tonight.

She rose from her seat and half-way ran out of the ballroom.

It was time to go home.

* * *

Back home, the White House was oddly quiet with much of the staff still across town at the fundraiser. The only sound was that of Ashley's gown quietly swishing as she made her way back to her apartment.

Well, the gown _and_ the soft footsteps of Carlin following her. The Marine had been silent all the way back to Ashley's apartment, and at first Ashley had appreciated the bodyguard giving her some space.

But the space was clearly metaphorical at this point. As she pulled her keys out of her clutch, Ashley whirled to glare at Carlin. The frustrations of the evening were finally coming to a head. If Carlin wanted to stand in the crossfire, so be it.

"Why are you following me? I'm in the building. Mission accomplished. Go away."

Carlin merely raised an eyebrow at the outburst, looking as unphased as ever.

"I am just making sure that you have gotten properly home Ms. Davies," the Marine replied, moving to stand at an odd sort of attention with her hands clasped behind her back.

"Whatever," Ashley grumbled, finally managing to get her door open. At this point all she wanted was to get out of this dress, into her bed, and try to forget that this day had ever happened.

But when Ashley tried to push the door closed behind her, she found a uniformed arm gently resisting her effort.

"My apologies Ms. Davies, but can I bother you one last time this evening?"

Ashley was fully prepared to tell Carlin off when from nowhere, Spencer drew up a tiny cardboard box.

She flipped it open, produced a lighter, and flicked to life a tiny flame on a tiny candle settled in a cupcake – mocha lava, Ashley's favorite.

"Happy Birthday," Spencer told her with a soft smile.

"How did you know?" Ashley asked softly, all of the fight drained out of her. She could not take her eyes off the little candle.

Spencer shrugged, giving a wry smile, "I know way more about your personal life that anyone should be forced to bear the knowledge of, and yet somehow you are surprised that I know your birthday?"

Ashley laughed softly, too tired from the emotionally trying day to come up with her usual snark, "Yeah I guess you're right," But Ashley wasn't completely fooled. There were plenty of people at the White House, her mother included, who could have known that today was her birthday if they had made the effort to look. Apparently Spencer was the only one who had.

"Look I'm sorry if I'm overstepping some boundaries here, since you didn't seem to want to make a big deal about today, but I just thought you deserved to celebrate even if it's just a little." Spencer held the cupcake closer to Ashley's lips.

"Make a wish."

Ashley was a little mesmerized by the reflection of the wavering candle flickering in Spencer's deep blue eyes. Something told her that maybe she didn't need wishes to get her happily ever after.

Without breaking their comfortable eye contact, Ashley blew out the candle.

* * *

**Another delay, but I hope the wait was worth it. Thank you all for reading!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Maybe Ashley can catch a glimpse behind Spencer's poker face? **

* * *

"Please tell me you are not wearing THAT to dinner," Kyla implored her sister. Ashley was sprawled on the couch wearing a pair of Georgetown sweatpants and Purple Venom tee-shirt so old and worn that it would be better described as 'Lavender Venom.'

Ashley did not look up from her copy _Rolling Stone._ "Not American enough for them?"

Kyla shoved her sister's legs off her side of the couch and sat down to pull on her pumps.

"You'd give the group of twenty-five little old ladies a collective heart attack. Do you really want to be responsible for that?"

Ashley laid the open magazine down against her chest, giving her sister her full attention. "Kyla, let's be real here. It isn't my fault if their pacemakers can't take the jolt my physique would send to their granny-panties." She waggled her eyebrows with a playful smirk

Kyla scoffed. "Seriously?" Where did her sister come up with this stuff? "Please don't ever say the words 'granny-panties' and make that face again. Ever."

Ashley seemed to reconsider her comment. She shrugged, "That's fair."

Kayla laughed as she reached over to the coffee table and began to pull on the white gloves that went with her ball gown and hat.

Tonight was the Daughters of the American Revolution's annual "Women of Inspiration" dinner. For the fourth consecutive year, Christine was hosting the event. The DAR loved that fact that one of their own was President of the United States and took every opportunity they had to show off their influence.

"Seriously though, you're going to have to change fast if you are going to make it to dinner on time."

"Yeah about that…" Ashley replied, "I've suddenly taken a turn. Probably cholera, possibly typhoid – shouldn't have tried to ford that river after two of my oxen died just past Fort Walla Walla."

Ashley gave two incredibly fake hacking coughs, for good measure. She moved her magazine back in front of her face. "I don't think I'm going to make it. I'm not up for fighting through my illness to support mommy dearest tonight."

Kyla winced, catching the reference to Ashley's birthday. She still hated herself for ditching her sister on her 22nd birthday, even if Ashley didn't seem to be holding it against her. In Ashley's eyes the blame, as always, sat squarely on their mother's shoulders.

"For someone who claims to love history – apparently enough to double major in it – you sure do seem to harbor some deep-seeded animosity toward the DAR."

Ashley sat up, tossing the magazine to the ground with a light thud. "Don't even get me started on their elitist bullshit – and I think we both know that Christine wouldn't even qualify for membership if she hadn't been a congresswoman and BFFs with the DAR vice-president when she joined. Grandma and Grandpa barely speak English!

Kyla sighed, knowing that this argument had been a lost cause from the start. She wasn't even sure why she had tried in the first place.

"All right, all right! I'll tell everyone that you've got cramps, happy? I don't think they'll buy the cholera bit – and ewww, do you even know what cholera is?"

Ashley shrugged, settling back down onto the couch. "Yeah, but they won't."

Kyla stood up to leave, patting her sister on the head as she made her way to the door. "You're probably right. Maybe I'll give it a try, just to see what they say."

* * *

It didn't take Ashley long to finish reading her magazine, and without Kyla to entertain her, she was finding her Friday night more than a little dull. Madison was home in Miami vising her parents for the long weekend and Ashley wasn't in the mood for hitting the club scene solo. For some reason, she wasn't interested in the evening companions she usually went out to score.

She practiced her cello and guitar, finished her Medieval European Music term paper, and even resorted to watching re-runs of "Here Comes Honey Boo Boo," before her boredom became unbearable. She half considered sucking it up and going downstairs where at least she would have Kyla's company before she remembered that there was someone else who's presence she tolerated fairly well just down the hall.

* * *

Though Spencer rarely had visitors over to her White House apartment, she was still surprised when she answered a knock to find Ashley – who else – on the other side of her door.

"Ms. Davies?" she blurted. Spencer had a moment of panic, thinking that she had somehow managed to forget a scheduled outing before she remembered that she and Chelsea had both been given the night off because the Davies family was hosting some sort of dinner in the reception room down stairs.

"What are you doing here?" Spencer reached an arm out to lean against the door frame and took a moment to appreciate the fact that she had never seen Ashley look so… comfortable. In place of her usual expensive, tight and/or revealing outfits, she was wearing sweats. Her curly hair was wrapped up in a sloppy bun, she barely had on any make-up and she was wearing black, thick-framed glasses.

Spencer realized with a jolt of surprise that she had also never looked so beautiful.

"I'm bored." Ashley deadpanned, crossing her arms across her chest. She rose up on her tip-toes and peered over Spencer's shoulder and into the apartment. "…and it looks like you are not."

Before Spencer could say anything further, Ashley had nimbly ducked under her arm and into the apartment.

It only took a moment for Ashley to appraise the pizza on the counter, the empty beer cans by the sink and the cards on the dining room table.

"You're having a party and didn't think to invite me? I'm really hurt Carlin."

Upon hearing Ashley's voice all around the dining room table, Chelsea and the rest of their guests sprung to their feet. "Ms. Davies," the group murmured in surprised greeting.

Ashley recognized more than a few faces around the table. Aside from Chelsea and Spencer, there were Jenny and Pablo, two of the elder White House janitors, Maggie, an assistant chef, and Elliot, a grounds-keeper.

"The Help are assembled," Ashley gave a raised brow. "You may be seated," she told them with mock gravity and an overdramatic sweep of her arm.

"If you're uncomfortable…" Spencer began, gesturing back towards the still open door.

Ashley flapped a hand at her. "Very little on this planet makes me uncomfortable." Spencer watched as the elder Davies moved around the table to catch one of the janitors up in a familial hug.

"How are the girls Pablo?" Ashley asked as she pulled away from the hug.

"Theresa just started guitar lessons, Ms. Davies. I should have never let you show her the basics. Six years old and my granddaughter thinks she is going to be a rock star!" He laughed good-naturedly.

"Who says she won't?" Ashley asked with a half-smile and cocked eye-brow. She turned back to the rest of the group as Pablo reclaimed his seat, giving them each a greeting by name.

"So what's going on here? Wait, wait, let me guess – crazy eights tournament?"

Spencer held back from releasing a tired sigh. "Poker tournament."

Ashley tuned to look at her with a skeptical gaze. "Seriously."

Spencer could not hold back an eye-roll. "Yes."

"Huh." Ashley looked over to take in the scene again. "All right," she nodded to Elliot, who was collecting the discarded cards from the last hand. "Deal me in."

Ashley proceeded to make her way back over to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out a beer. When she began rooting through the cabinets and drawers in search of a bottle opener, Spencer finally overcame her shock enough to confront her.

"Ms. Davies, what exactly are you doing here?" It was her night off, after all. She shouldn't have to deal with Hurricane Davies until tomorrow afternoon at least.

"I hate to state the obvious, but I'm about to kick your ass in poker." She had finally found the bottle opener by the side of the sink and proceeded to crack the seal of a Sam Adams with a gentle hiss of released air.

"With 'The Help?'" Spencer prompted, still trying to wrap her head around how she had allowed this invasion of her home to be permitted without a much of fight.

Ashley took a swig of her beer. "Yeah, sure, why not? I have no problem with the White House staff, just the Secret Service." She reached into a bag of chips on the counter and plucked out a handful. "And you, of course," she added as an afterthought - more of a formality now. Neither of them really believed it.

"Aren't you supposed to be downstairs being a 'Woman of Inspiration'?" Spencer did not try to hide her sarcasm.

Ashley merely snorted. "That actually had some punch to it Carlin." Spencer realized that instead of looking insulted, Ashley looked mildly impressed. "And no. I have cholera."

"Cholera?" Spencer asked skeptically.

"Figurative Cholera." Ashley replied, as if that made any sense. She took another swig of beer and wound her way around Spencer and back over to the poker table. Ashley had claimed Spencer's seat next to Chelsea before she even had a chance to protest.

"So are we talking Texas Hold 'Em, or Five Card stud?" Ashley asked.

Chelsea gave a helpless shrug and all Spencer could do was go find another chair as Elliot dealt her in.

* * *

Two hours later Ashley found that it was _her_ ass that was being thoroughly kicked, by her bodyguard no less. The girl had a poker face like nobody's business. She was secretly glad that they were only playing for chips and not for real money, or else Ashley would have easily lost her monthly trust fund allowance and then some.

Though she had been able to get a read on the rest of the White House staffers, and once or twice had been able to avoid a disastrous betting war with Chelsea, she had not been able detect any sort of tell from Spencer. The marine gave nothing away.

Ashley drummed her fingers on the table as she studied first her cards, then the community cards, and then Spencer. Only Ashley and the senior marine were left in the betting after the river had been dealt.

Again, Spencer didn't seem to be giving anything away. Instead she stared right back at Ashley, keeping her cards flat on the table, were they had been sitting since she had a taken one quick peek at them at the beginning of the round after they had been dealt.

The blonde took three blue chips from her impressive stack and tossed them into the growing pot.

"I'm guessing you've got something good there Carlin," Ashley tested, risking a glance away to make sure that she had enough chips left to match Spencer's bet.

She did, but it would take all she had.

"Yep," Ashley continued, stalling her answering bet, "Must be _really_ good. Like maybe a straight?"

Spencer gave nothing away, just kept her steady gaze fixed on Ashley.

"Maybe even a flush?"

Again, nothing. Not even a twitch.

"Or maybe you've really got nothing at all _soldier_." Which was what Ashley had – not that she was going to admit it. Unless she psyched Spencer out, her jack high card wasn't going to win anything.

Spencer finally cracked a soft smile at this. "You really think you're going to break me that easy?"

"Maybe," Ashley retorted, still trying to stall and still trying to read Spencer.

Carlin actually laughed. "You do realize that I've been trained to resist giving into interrogation, don't you?"

Ashley sighed, pushing her chips into the center of the table, all in. "Yeah, yeah, I know, you're super Marine chick. It doesn't mean I can't at least _try_ to get you to spill the beans. And hey, at least you're getting a chance to see if all that training actually works, right? Even if it is just poker."

Spencer's gaze darkened. "It works."

Now for a different reason, Ashley wished she could read her bodyguard better. If she could, she wouldn't have to be sitting there wondering when, why and how Spencer had been interrogated.

What did that even mean?

"Spencer?" Ashley asked hesitantly, needing to know, but at the same time, never wanting to hear the response.

Next to her, Chelsea shifted uncomfortably and everyone else around the table suddenly found themselves fascinated with their beers.

Spencer ignored her and instead turned over her cards. "Full House."

It took Ashley a moment, but she finally realized that she was expected to show her cards as well. She flipped them over wordlessly, still trying to catch Spencer's gaze which was decidedly anywhere but on her.

"I guess I'll just be taking these then." She swept her arms forward to gather the large stack of chips toward her side of the table. She then reached behind her to turn up the radio to help cover the uncomfortable silence. "Who's up for a few more hands?"

She tossed a few chips back at Ashley so she could stay in the game, but Ashley had soon lost them again. She had a hard time keeping her focus for the rest of the night.

* * *

About an hour later, Pablo was the first to announce that he should be heading home. It was well after midnight and most of them still had to work a weekend shift early tomorrow morning. Upon seeing him stand to leave, the others made their excuses too and headed out for the evening as well.

Before long only Chelsea, Spencer and Ashley were left in the apartment.

"That was fun," Spencer told her friend as she gathered up empties and carried them over to the sink.

"I told you it would be," Chelsea replied with a knowing smile. Her friend had suggested the get-together with their new friends as a way to help Spencer to relax. Ever since the return of Carmen Sanchez to her life, Spencer had felt more on edge than she had since leaving Afghanistan. Poker was a welcome distraction, and it always reminded her of home.

She'd spent many summer nights staying up late with her dad and brothers, learning the tricks of the game. They'd bet for chores and Halloween candy, their father helping each of them in turn. The game was also one that she had often played with her fire squad as a way of breaking down the barriers of the chain of command and getting to know her Marines as individuals.

"I should have learned by now that you're always right." Spencer admitted.

"Damn straight," Chelsea laughed. She turned back to the table to finish cleaning up. "Hey, where did Ashley go?"

Spencer fought down her instinctual panic at hearing those words after a quick glance at the apartment door confirmed that it was locked and chained as it had been when she had let Pablo and Elliot out a few moments earlier.

Instead of answering her friend, Spencer set out to find her charge. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew where Ashley had snuck off to.

Her suspicions were confirmed when moments later she found Ashley poking around her room. Of course. Personal boundaries meant nothing to the girl.

"Can I help you with something?" Spencer asked, leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed.

Ashley didn't bother to turn away from where she was looking at the photos on Spencer's dresser. "No, no, I'm fine."

Spencer rolled her eyes, realizing that Ashley would not take the hint and get out of her personal space without an escort.

* * *

Ashley hadn't been able to resist the chance to see Carlin's natural habitat and she was not at all surprised to find that it was perfectly spotless. Her bed was made military style, with squared corners. A quick glance in her closet showed every hanger evenly spaced and pointed the same way. Even the book on the corner of her desk was perfectly squared to the edges.

A second glance at the title confirmed that it was a copy of the Bible. _A bible by the bedside - she really is Ms. All-America, _Ashley thought to herself.

The only personal touches to the room were a series of photographs neatly lined up along the top of Carlin's dresser.

The first showed Carlin in dusty fatigues, standing with Chelsea and a group of similarly dressed men who Ashley could only assume were her platoon – or whatever it was called. They were standing in front of a pile of rubble that looked like it had once been a building. Each was holding a large gun - casually, as if it was something they did every day.

The next photo showed a much cleaner and happier version of Spencer, wearing a blue graduation cap and gown and matched and drew out the color of her eyes. She had her arms wrapped around a blonde woman who could only be her mother and a dark haired man whose sparkling blue eyes suggested that he was her father.

They looked so happy that Ashley couldn't help feeling a sting of jealousy. Even if her mother hadn't been such a bitch, Ashley would have never had the chance to experience the moment that the Carlin family seemed to be enjoying in the photo. Her father had been killed in a car crash a week before homecoming sophomore year. Ashley had opted to skip out on her graduation senior year – her mother had been in Washington and the ceremony didn't mean anything without her dad anyway.

Ashley moved on to the third photo. She was most intrigued by this one, and not just because it showed Spencer wearing a bikini. It showed a slightly younger version of Spencer sitting next to two boys at the beach.

Ashley's inspection was interrupted but the sound of a clearing throat. "Can I help you with something?"

Ashley winced, realizing that she had been caught snooping. "No, no, I'm fine." Hey, it was only fair, after all. The marine had already seen all sorts of personal parts of her life. It was time for a little reciprocity.

"I take it this one is your brother?" Ashley asked as she felt Spencer approach. She pointed to the boy on the right. His blond hair and blue eyes screamed Carlin. He was almost the male version of Spencer.

Beside her, Spencer nodded. "That would be Glen, my oldest brother." Ashley was surprised that she gave away the personal detail. Normally, the Marine avoided talking about herself and her personal life at all costs.

"And does he share the tight-ass Carlin family charm?" Ashley asked ruefully.

She could almost feel the heat radiating off the Marine's arm, which was just far enough away from her own to avoid contact.

"I'm not going to validate that with a response."

Ashley decided to take that as a yes. She gestured to the other boy in the photo. His dark skin and brown eyes were a stark contrast to the two Carlins. "And who is this guy? One of these things is not like the other…"

Spencer scoffed, but rolled her eyes good naturedly. "Oh, like I've never heard that before. His name is Clay. We may not share the same blood, but it didn't take long for us to become family." She reached out to straighten the frame, placing it back in line from where Ashley's inspection had disturbed it. "Aside from Corporeal Lewis, he's my best friend."

"Adorbs." Ashley rolled her eyes. _Straight girls and their boyfriends._ "I thought your family was super conservative. They're okay with you mixing things up?"

"I think we need to clear up a little confusion you seem to be holding onto," Spencer said, turning to face Ashley properly. "My family is traditional, yes. We're a military family, yes. And we do tend to lean conservative on certain issues. But that does not mean we are a) racist, or b) homophobes.

I would have hoped that despite your deep-seeded desire to put everyone into nice little boxes - in spite of the fact, I may add, that you are quote 'not into labels' - you would have realized by now that I'm not anything like what you made me out to be when we first met."

Ashley took a small step back, cleared her throat and appreciated the fact that she had just been completely schooled.

"All right, all right. Point taken. Thanks for clearing all of that up Sergeant Suddenly-Speaks-A-Lot. You do know that I'm just pushing your buttons most of the time, right?" Ashley was suddenly very self-conscious.

Spencer sighed, but finished her mini tirade. "I know. And just for the record, while we're on the subject of your assumptions I only have a problem with your sexuality when you insist on conquering your conquests within eye or ear shot. Its…" she seemed to be searching for the right word, "…unseemly."

"I will keep that in mind," Ashley mused. She tucked that tidbit of information away to process later. She might have to reassess some of her assumptions about the Marine. If she was liberal enough to rock a bi-racial relationship, then maybe she couldn't be half-bad after all.

Even so, Ashley couldn't help but rile Spencer up every once in a while. She was so smoking sexy when she was mad.

_Well_, _it's true_. Ashley admitted to herself when she realized what she had just though, but she filed that thought away for later processing as well. Now was not the time.

A glance to the clock revealed that it was probably late enough that Carlin might want to be heading to bed. Ashley decided to be a gracious guest.

"I guess I'll leave you to your beauty sleep."

Carlin followed her to the door. "Want me to walk you back to your place?" She asked.

Ashley chuckled. "You're off the clock Sarge, give it a rest, will you? I think I can make it 200 feet down the hall on my own."

Upon seeing the look on Spencer's face, she realized that the Marine had just been being polite, not acting on some sense of contractual duty. "But thank you – you know, for asking." Ashley winced at how stupid that sounded.

Spencer merely shrugged, opening the door for her. "Good night."

"Night," Ashley replied, crossing the threshold. A lingering curiosity held her and forced her to turn back.

"Wait, hey Spencer?"

"Mmm?" the marine replied.

"About before… the interrogation thing…?" Ashley had to ask.

Spencer looked uncomfortable for a moment before forcing herself to smile. She placed a hand on Ashley's shoulder. "You don't have to worry about it, everything turned out fine." She gave the shoulder a gentle squeeze before pulling back. "And here I am, safe and sound."

"Yeah, well…" Ashley wasn't sure how to express herself. "I do."

"Do what?" Spencer asked, not quite following Ashley's response.

"I do worry… about _you_ I mean."

There was a long pause as they both thought about what she had just said. Ashley realized how that might have sounded and tried to cover. "You're sort of my responsibility now, you know?"

Spencer gave her one of her dazzling, soft, thousand-watt smiles, one of those rare ones where her eyes caught the light just right and sparkled like the blue water off Santa Monica pier. Ashley felt like for once in her life, she might have actually said the right thing at the right time.

"I think you've got our roles a little mixed up there, don't you think Ms. Davies?"

"Well, maybe we can just agree that we're responsible for each other?"

Spencer chuckled. "I think I can live with that."

* * *

**A/N: Another long delay, and not my longest chapter, but I wanted to give you guys ****_something_****. I'm looking forward to finishing the next chapter. It will be Thanksgiving at the White House, and there might be some fowl play afoot. **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Nothing like a little holiday spirit to bring our ladies together in the same closet…**

* * *

With one hand on the steering wheel and one eye on the road, Carmen Sanchez still managed to twist off the cap of her mascara and began to apply a thick coat to her eyelashes.

A quick glance down at the clock on the dashboard confirmed that she was well behind schedule. The gas pedal was already to the floor as she cruised through the pine forests of South Carolina. To the east, the sun was just starting to rise, reminding her that there was a slim chance that she was going to make it to Tallahassee before noon when her family Thanksgiving dinner was scheduled to start.

Her mother was going to kill her.

"How does that woman talk me into these things?" Carmen grumbled as she recapped the mascara and tossed it haphazardly over her shoulder and into the back seat.

Usually Carmen was able to excuse her way out of the annual Sanchez Thanksgiving fiesta at her abuela's house, but this year her mother had put her foot down, all but demanding her eldest daughter's presence at the family gathering.

Carmen hated Tallahassee and had done everything humanly possible to get out of Florida as soon as she was old enough to set out on her own – it was a part of what had led her to enlist in the Marine Corps. They were the first military branch shipping recruits out to boot camp after her high school graduation and that was all Carmen had needed to know to sign the dotted line.

It wasn't that she didn't love her mother – it was just that she most definitely did not love her stepfather and her ever-growing pack of half siblings. She'd always gotten along better with her dad anyway and though she inherited her looks from the Mexican side of her family, everything else came from her father's people.

At the thought of her father, Carmen remembered that she had promised to call him sometime today. It would be near impossible to get privacy at her mother's house, and some quick mental math confirmed that it was a reasonable hour for a phone call where her dad was.

She tapped the number into her phone, turned down the music and waited for her father to answer.

"Hey Daddy," Carmen said when he answered a few rings later. She shifted the phone to her shoulder, holding it in place with her chin. With her now free hand, she groped in the makeup bag on her passenger seat.

With a little digging, she pulled out an eyeliner pen and proceeded to apply a thick line to each eyelid in order to achieve her signature smoky eye look.

"No, I'm just heading down to Mom's place for the holiday," she replied to her father's question, grinning as one of her favorite songs came onto the lightly humming radio.

"Thanksgiving, you remember – no, no, it's an American thing, not a Mexican thing." She rolled her eyes. How many years had her father lived in this country, and he still didn't grasp the concept of Thanksgiving? Carmen winced as her father all but shouted back a reply.

She pulled the phone away from her ear a little, forcing herself to remain quiet during her father's rebuke. She loved him, but the man tried far too hard to micromanage her life.

Finally she was able to get a word in to defend herself. "Well I tried to convince the General that I would be useful, but he said it was a holiday and military business could wait. I'll have to find another way to get to her. Spencer's version of a security detail is a little more… detailed than what the Secret Service traditionally puts together. I haven't gotten a chance to get her alone."

Carmen deftly steered her car in and out of lanes to pass other early morning travelers who were going far too slowly for her liking.

"I know Daddy, but I just haven't gotten a chance to get her alone yet…"Carmen hated hearing the whine in her voice but couldn't manage to keep it away.

"Spencer's proving to be… difficult. I thought that having her come back into my life at just the right time was a gift, you know? That maybe things would be easier for us this time. But I think maybe it's just the opposite. She's not as interested in getting together as I thought she'd be. She's not the innocent girl I trained in Basic – she's battle hardened now, and I'm not sure I'm ever going to be able to get back into her heart."

Carmen sighed away from the phone as her father launched into another long-winded response. She wasn't sure why she bothered trying to explain the details to him. All he really cared about was the big picture anyway.

"But Daddy…"

Her father's response cut her short again. She sat up straighter in the driver's seat.

"Yes sir… yes… I know. I understand. I know what you expect of me, I… I will not let you down. I'll find a way."

After a brief goodbye, Carmen disconnected the call and tossed her phone into the back seat. Her father had given her a lot to think about and the five hours left of her road trip seemed like the perfect opportunity to wrack her brain for a solution to the problem at hand.

It was obvious that getting back with Spencer was not going to be as easy as she had initially hoped. Maybe it was time for a different strategy. It she wasn't going to be able to woo her way back into Spencer's heart, she was going to have to come up with a different angle of attack.

Unable to help herself, she belted out the last few lines of the song still playing on the radio. "…'Cause I know that you're living a lie, but that's okay baby 'cause in time you will find: what goes around, goes around, goes around, Comes all the way back around..."

* * *

Ashley tried not to fidget too much in front of the dozen or so cameras trained on the First Family as they stood on the North Portico of the White House.

It was a cool, late November morning and she and Kyla were present to watch Christine carry out one of her least favorite of all presidential duties.

"Thanksgiving," Christine was telling the Press Corps, "…is a uniquely American holiday. A time where we step back and give thanks for those good tidings the year has brought to us. This year in particular has been a good one for the American people: I'm proud to announce that thanks to the hard work of this administration, unemployment is at an all-time low in the United States of America."

The crowd gave a polite round of applause and Ashley forced herself to join them. If she had to listen to her mother take credit for the current economic upswing one more time, she was going to scream. Christine Davies thought that the world revolved around her and that every good turn of events was merely the result of her all-knowing benevolence.

Ashley would love, just once, for one of those reporters out there to force her mother to come up with a list of three – _just three_ – concrete things that she had actually done to help the economy during her first term. Anyone with half a brain could tell that Christine was just riding out on the coat tails of the economic polices her democratic predecessor put in place before he was kicked out of the office.

She seriously hoped that the American people got their acts together before next November. Ashley wasn't sure she could handle four more years of Christine as her mother – let alone as her president.

"And so, we are reminded that not only is this holiday about celebrating our thanks, but also celebrating the gift of giving." _God who writes, these speeches?_ Ashley wondered. They managed to have her mother speak so much, and yet say so little.

"Today, I will bestow the gift of a pardon upon one of God's most magnificent creatures." Christine was now making her way over to the 'magnificent creature' she was pardoning far too early on this cold Thanksgiving morning – a 45 pound American domesticated turkey. The bird was apparently named Gobbles - if the plaque beneath his cage was any indication.

"I, Christine Davies, President of the United States of America, hereby declare on this Thursday, November 26th Thanksgiving and that the noble turkey Gobbles is cleared of all charges against him and is free to live out the rest of his days as a liberated bird!"

Ashley contained her laughter behind a feigned yawn, try catching Kyla's eye to her left. This was the third Thanksgiving Day Turkey pardon they had been forced to suffer through, and it has not yet succeeded in becoming any less ridiculous.

For her part, however, Kyla looked rather sour. _Funny,_ Ashley thought to herself, _that's usually my role_.

The one solace that Ashley took from the event was the knowledge that Christine was secretly terrified of birds. Her Chief-of-Staff Kelly had to all but force her to attend this event every year, telling her that the American people would expect her to carry on the Thanksgiving pardon tradition of her predecessors. Even now, Ashley could see Christine's hands slightly trembling as she reached through the bars on the cage to stroke the 'magnificent' creature's feathers so that the Press Corps could get their photo-op.

_Please Gobbles_, Ashley sent a silent plea to the turkey who looked about as pleased to be stroked by Christine Davies as the president was to be touching him, _If you have any self-respect, just turn and bite the woman._

"I know what you're thinking," Kyla muttered next to her, trying not to let her lips move while they were still in front of the cameras. "And stop making that face or you are going to make me laugh."

"Oh please," Ashley replied in a similar covert voice,"It doesn't even have to be hard, just one little peck… a love tap really."

Kyla actually snorted.

"Bless you," Ashley cooed, flashing quick grin at her sister as she covered for her outburst.

Ashley was tempted to blow her sister's façade as a dignified young lady and expose her for the dork she really was, but ultimately decided against it. She didn't want her sister to get in trouble with Christine on one of the few holidays Ashley actually enjoyed.

What was there not to love about a day that began with stuffing yourself with stuffing, continued on with turkey-induced napping, and stayed strong with a late night pumpkin pie pick me-up? Not to mention that Thanksgiving official marked the beginning of holiday shopping season.

After a few more photos, Christine declared the ceremony over and shook a few of the reporters' hands before making a hasty retreat back into the White House. Kyla and Ashley lingered behind, taking the chance to enjoy the cool autumn morning. Across the lawn, Ashley could see that the last hanger-on leaves of the autumn were finally throwing in the towel and surrendering to the impending winter.

Kyla, on the other hand, was focused on the turkey, which was now being carted off back into the White House by a few of the staffers. Her sour look had returned.

"It's just not fair," Kyla grumbled when they were finally out of earshot of the reporters.

"There's a lot that's not fair in the world, but you're not giving me a lot of context to work with," Ashley replied with a smirk. It was almost surreal being on the other side of what promised to be the nonsensical beginning to a Davies rant. So _this_ was what it was like to be Kyla…

Kyla gestured vaguely in the direction the turkey had been taken.

"Every year Mom pardons some poor bird, and then every year without fail she turns around and has it killed anyway once the media has gotten their photos and sound bites and then makes us eat it for dinner."

"It's just a bird Kyla," Ashley pulled her coat more tightly around her shoulders to ward off the chill in the morning air. She personally had no problems with being a carnivore. "Please don't tell me you're trying to go vegan again. We had this conversation this summer – I'm not letting you become a hipster. You can thank me in ten years."

Kyla scoffed and gave her a none-too-soft shove that pushed Ashley off of the paved path they were traversing and onto the lawn. "Shut up, that's not what the issue is here."

"Then what's the issue?" Ashley asked, rubbing her shoulder. It seemed little sister was getting all fired up about another one of her causes.

"It's not just about the bird. It's…it's…" Kyla huffed and ran her hand through her hair, risking a quick glance over her shoulder as if she worried that Christine was lurking somewhere behind them. "It's the principle behind the thing! I know that deep down, mom always tries to do what is best for the American people,"

"That's debatable..." Ashley cut in.

Kyla chose to ignore her, "And that only an idealist would think that a president can always keep her word. The world's a volatile place, I get that - circumstances are always changing and sometimes a promise made yesterday isn't the best course of action for today. But she gave an offical presidential pardon and there is absolutely no reason for her to kill that bird other than the fact that she just can. It's… it's an abuse of power and Gobbles shouldn't have to suffer for it!"

"Sing it sister!" Ashley loved when Kyla got all noble and political on her. Maybe there was hope for the world yet if there were enough people like her sister aspiring to positions in government.

"You can't just make a presidential pardon and then turn your back on it." Kyla finished, blushing slightly and looking adorably sheepish as she realized the length of her tirade.

"Well then," Ashley replied, feeling strangely moved by her sister's speech, "Let's make sure that this bird gets the freedom he was promised."

Kyla kicked at a pebble by her feet and sighed. "I tried talking to mom about it last week but she wouldn't listen. I think she gets some strange satisfaction from eating the bird she is forced to play nice with."

Ashley paused for a moment, noting how defeated and small her little sister seemed now compare to the noble and righteous activist who she had been just moments ago. She made up her mind to bring that version of Kyla back to the surface.

"Well," Ashley said as she wrapped an arm around her sister's neck, "If I've learned anything from mother, it's that if diplomacy doesn't work, get special ops on their ass."

"What's that supposed to mean? What exactly are you suggesting?" Kyla asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm not _suggesting_ anything," Ashley replied resolutely. "I am _saying_ that we are going to rescue the damn bird!" She grabbed Kyla's wrist and dragged her back into the White House.

She hadn't consciously planned it, but minutes later, Ashley found herself knocking on an increasingly familiar door.

If Carlin was surprised by her showing up unannounced (again), she had long ago stopped showing it.

"Ms. Davies," she gave Ashley the smallest of smirks, "And Ms. Davies," – Ashley did not fail to notice the distinctly less sarcastic greeting Carlin gave her sister – "How can I help you?"

"Can we come in?" Ashley asked, trying not to be too distracted by how good the Marine smelled. Judging by her still damp hair, she had just gotten out of the shower.

"Are you actually asking?" The Marine countered, one eyebrow raised.

Ashley rolled her eyes and pushed the rest of the way through the door. Kyla follow meekly behind offering some sort of apology for Ashley's behavior. Ashley made her way over the living room couch and plopped down. The Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade was playing on the TV.

She offered Corporal Lewis a half-hearted salute as the other Marine poked her head over the half wall that separated the kitchen from the living space of the apartment.

"As much as it pains me to ask, I think that Kyla needs your help." Ashley announced to the Marines.

"Uh, no way, this is completely Ashley's idea!" Kyla tried to cut in.

"…and completely Kyla's righteous fight for avian rights." Ashley retorted.

"Okay…" Chelsea didn't quite seem to be following. "Are you ladies planning on heading out somewhere this morning? Because there wasn't anything on the schedule…"

"Not exactly," Ashley replied. "It's not so much an outing as it is a… let's go with 'mission'."

"A mission?" Carlin asked incredulously. "You are going to have to give us a little more information to go on with this."

"We are attempting to recuse a prisoner of war," Ashley responded in what she thought was a very film-noir kind of voice.

Spencer leaned back against the counter and folder her arms across her chest. "All right. Let's work under the farfetched assumption that you are actually planning something and this isn't just another one of your overly dramatic hyperboles. Rescue operations can be pretty sensitive. Who's the prisoner?"

Ashley couldn't quite tell whether Spencer was being serious or was just playing along. Damn her poker face. But she found that she was oddly touched that Spencer seemed to be totally down, either way. Maybe being friendly with these Marine types wasn't all bad after all.

"He's not so much a prisoner… as a bird," Kyla answered.

"A bird?" Chelsea deadpanned.

"Well, more specifically a turkey."

"Right." Corporal Lewis looked over to Carlin and they seemed to have some sort of silent conversation. It ended with Chelsea pulling off her apron and coming around to rest against the counter next to Spencer so that the Davies had her full attention. "I guess dinner will keep."

This of course drew Ashley's attention over to the kitchen. It was never too early to sneak in a little preview Thanksgiving snack. She popped up off the couch and reacquainted herself with Carlin's kitchen.

Unfortunately, her dreams of green beans and sweet potato casserole were crushed by a sad reality.

"This is what you are doing for Thanksgiving dinner?!" She picked up a container of deli meat in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other, scanning the contents of the countertop. "Oscar Myer turkey sandwiches, rehydrated mashed potatoes from a box, and canned cranberry sauce? This is just… sad."

"Feast preparation isn't exactly covered in basic training Ms. Davies," Chelsea responded a little sheepishly. "We learn a lot of skills – cooking just isn't one of them."

"Evidently," Ashley answered distractedly. She would have to do something about this, but first to the matter at hand. "Right… well, let's focus on those other skills for the moment."

"Just so we're clear," Spencer began as she pulled over two of the kitchen chairs to face the couch where Ashley and Kyla were sitting, "We are only doing this to keep you two out of trouble and to maintain the security of the president and the United States."

"Obviously." Ashley replied with a smirk. As if Carlin wasn't practically itching to do something that even vaguely resembled a real military operation after two months of playing babysitter to a pair of college coeds. Ashley didn't know much about the military, but she got the idea that this security gig was a rather unusual assignment for two Marines.

"All right then," Spencer nodded. "Let's talk logistics."

* * *

"Well, I can honestly say, this is not how I imagined my Thanksgiving going," Chelsea muttered, "And yet somehow I am not at all surprised that the Davies are getting us into this."

For her part, Spencer had really hoped to spend her Thanksgiving at home with her parents, brothers and grandma. The Carlins hadn't had a real Thanksgiving together since Spencer's senior year of high school and yet here she was again – missing another family holiday.

It was going to be worth it though. Chelsea and Spencer had been given the choice between getting leave for Thanksgiving or for Christmas – they both chose Christmas. It would be their first Christmases spent at home in two years. Spencer was looking forward to spending some quality time with Glen and Clay before they graduated from the Naval Academy in April and went off for active duty or medical training, respectively.

"It had been a while since they got into some mischief, so I guess it was only a matter of time. At least they've started letting us in on their plans instead of making us chase after them in the dark."

Spencer and Chelsea were following a respectable distance behind the Davies sisters as they made their way down the first floor hall acting 'naturally.' For Ashley, apparently, that meant whistling the theme to the Andy Griffith show. Her interpretation of a "covert approach" to the White House kitchens left something to be desired, but she seemed to be having a good time with it.

Though she tended to be somewhat of a perfectionist in her tactical procedures, Spencer allowed Ashley's behavior because she was feeling moved by the spirit of the holiday and definitely not because Ashley was in any way, shape or form adorable.

Anyway, only essential staff (Spencer, Chelsea and the Secret Service included) were working at the White House for the Thanksgiving Holiday, so there weren't very many people around in the first place. Their destination was an overflow kitchen prep area and a quick favored phoned in to Maggie, one of the Marines' new poker buddies, had guaranteed that all the assistant chefs would be away peeling potatoes in the main kitchen for the next fifteen minutes.

Their "mission" promised to be easy-in, easy-out.

"So what's next Sarge?" Ashley whispered when they reached the door to the kitchen prep annex.

Accepting the fact that Ashley was never going to call her by her proper title, Spencer ignored her and instead risked a quick peek through the circular window at the center of the swinging door.

As promised, to the far right of the room sat a large metal cage draped with a dark sheet – presumablely to keep the bird quiet until it was time to meet his maker. And to the left… of course.

So much for easy.

She ducked back into a crouch and turned to face the huddled little group. "Well, our intel was correct. The bird _is_ being held here, but unfortunately there's also a potential witness we're going to have to deal with."

"Who is it?" Chelsea asked, glancing back toward the door as if she could see through it.

"Agent Dennison." It seemed that the Secret Service agent had sneaked down to the kitchen to snag some pumpkin pie filling. Judging by his regular furtive glances toward the door, Spencer guessed that his mid-morning snack was unsanctioned by the White House pastry chefs. "We're going to need a diversion."

Ashley gave her best Davies grin. "This is just too perfect. Denison and baby sister here having been trading puppy eyes for years now."

Kyla turned a rather distinctive shade of red. "Have not," she mumbled under her breath while unconsciously reaching up to smooth her hair.

"Regardless," Spencer cut in, "Do you think you could distract him and get him to turn his back on the cage?" Their window for keeping the assistant chefs at bay was rapidly closing.

"I don't know, maybe?" Kyla, apparently, was not someone who thrived under pressure.

"Let's put it this way: Do you think you could managed to keep him in a conversation for 1 to 3 minutes?" Chelsea asked with a gentle, teasing grin. Apparently this crush of Kyla's was not news to her.

"Think of Gobbles Kyla, you're his only hope!" Ashley whispered gravely, poking her sister in the side to emphasize every word.

Apparently the weight of three expectant gazes was enough to convince her "Okay, okay, I'll do it!" She raised from her crouch, smoothed out her dress, squared her shoulders and pushed her way through the swinging door and into the kitchen. Spencer was going to pretend she didn't catch the girl doing a quick breath check on the way in.

"Okay," Spencer turned back to her remaining two squad members. "We'll give her twenty seconds to get him turned around and distracted, and then we move. Since Agent Dennison is already familiar with the kitchen environment, we cannot simply remove the cage without raising his suspicions. Ms. Davies, I am going to need to you take one of the boxes of napkins from the lower shelf behind the cage and cover it with the cloth once Corporal Lewis and I get secure the prisoner. It won't be a perfect match for size, but hopefully it will be enough to avoid catching his interest. We're going to need to operate under near perfect silence – this is a very sensitive operation and the slightest noise or sudden movement could set the turkey off and alert Agent Dennison to our presence in the kitchen. Any questions before we move out?"

Chelsea gave a crisp shake of her head. Ashley looked like she was dying to add some sort of commentary, but managed to hold her tongue.

"All right, we move on my signal." Spencer popped her head up into the window one more time, assuring herself that Dennison was properly distracted before sending in her people. Kyla was anxiously twirling a loop of hair in her hand and Aiden was rubbing the back of his neck but they appeared to be pretty well absorbed in one another. It was good time.

Spencer flashed the all clear hand signal and silently opened the door to the kitchen. Chelsea followed closely on her heels with Ashley straggling just a bit behind.

"So it always struck me as strange that pumpkin pie is only made around Thanksgiving," Kyla was saying.

"Yeah… yes, it always struck me too – about the pie, that it's… seasonal." Spencer held back a snort. For such a pretty boy, Dennison apparently had absolutely no game.

While Kyla and Aiden managed to continue their riveting conversation about pie, Chelsea and Spencer reached the bird cage and were carefully lifting it down off the table, trying to keep any jostling to a minimum. The thing was surprisingly heavy.

Maybe it was because she had never seen a live turkey up close, or maybe it was the heat of the moment, but Spencer wasn't expecting the thing to be so big… or so mean looking. The bird was practically glaring at her when its face was uncovered. It looked like it was just waiting for the right moment to strike and reap sweet vengeance for its captivity.

"A-and, what are your thoughts about rhubarb?" Kyla was managing to keep the conversation going, giving a loud throat-clearing at the end of her question to cover some of Goggles' soft… gobbles.

"Rhubarb?" Dennison asked awkwardly, "Ah, it's totally Rhu-diculous. Like really good. Do you like it?"

Ashley had manage to find a good sized box, and with a little effort, hefted onto the table where the cage once sat. She hastily pulled the dark cloth over the box, then rushed over the hold the door open as Spencer and Chelsea carried the bird back into the hallway.

The trio did not pause to rest until they were down the hall, around the corner, and out of auditory range of the kitchen just in case Gobbles decided to get a little rowdy. Mercifully, aside from his initial soft vocalizations, the turkey seemed to be a man of few worlds.

"Hey, we actually did it!" Ashley remarked breathlessly and with surprise.

"It does give you a little bit of a rush, doesn't it?" Spencer asked, grinning as she felt her muscles tense and relax from the adrenaline pumping through her veins. Despite the inherent danger in her profession (current mission aside), there was nothing quite like the rush of going behind enemy lines and doing a job that no one else had the nerve or the skill to do. This obviously wasn't a real mission, but it reminded Spencer just what it was she loved about this job of hers.

She gave herself a little shake to gather back her focus. "We're not home free quite yet. We've still got to make it to the rendezvous point. You know what you gotta do Chels."

"On it Spence, see you in ten." Chelsea gave her a quick salute before dashing off down the hallway ahead of them to make sure that their path to their exit point was clear of prying eyes.

"Guess it's just you and me Sarge," Ashley smirked. "Funny how it worked out this way, it's almost like you can't get enough of me."

"Funny," Spencer deadpanned. "But if you still want to rescue this bird for Kyla, maybe you'd better save your breath. You're helping me carry this thing," She pointed at the cage, being careful to avoid eye contact with the ever more-demonic looking turkey.

She and Ashley each grabbed a side of the awkwardly large cage and began to shuffle their way down the thankfully still deserted hallway. They made it down a few lengths of passageways before Ashley's innate inability to not be talking kicked in.

"Do why does it have that dangly looking thing hanging down off its head?" She asked out of the blue, slightly rasping from the exertion of lugging the heavy bird.

"I have no idea." Spencer refused to admit that she had just been wondering the exact same thing. It was pretty funny looking.

Ashley scoffed. "Some hick you are."

"Hick?" Spencer asked, not sure if she should be insulted.

"You said you were from Ohio, isn't that somewhere in the middle with all the farms." Ashley waved her free arm wildly, as if gesturing at an imaginary map.

Spencer laughed – it wasn't an altogether inaccurate description of most of Ohio. "I'm from Cleveland, we're not so big on the animal husbandry in the Cleave."

"Huh - well I guess I just assumed your wholesome all-American self was born with a milk pail in one hand and a John Deere tractor in the other."

Spencer almost snorted. "My mother is a naval surgeon and my father works for the Ohio Department of Jobs and Family Services. We're not really country folk." Though they both kept their voices low, their conversation still echoed lightly in the empty corridor. Spencer had to guess that they were maybe five minutes from their destination.

"So it's your mom's side of the family with the big military tradition then?"

"Yeah," Spencer was little caught off guard by how much Ashley seemed to remember about her. Apparently the girl actually listened when she asked questions. Regardless, despite the relative innocence of the topic and surprising ease of the conversation, something gave Spencer the impression that she should not allow herself to be so candid with the First Daughter. It felt like she was sliding down some sort of slippery slope, but she didn't know what was at the bottom.

Ashley, on the other hand, seemed to harbor no such reservations. "So how did…"

"Shh!" Spencer interrupted, freezing on the spot and holding up her hand in an attempt to tell Ashley to pause for a moment. She could have sworn she heard something coming from around a turn in the corridor in behind them.

There it was. The faintest hint of a voice. Someone was coming their way and fast.

Eventually Ashley seemed to catch on to what Spencer had heard. "Shit!" she whispered. "What do we do?"

That was an excellent question. Going backwards was not an option, and trying to outrun them dragging the cage wasn't looking all that promising either. Luckily, there was a door coming off the hallway just a few feet in front of them. There was no light pouring out from under the crack, suggesting that it was probably empty on the other side. "There."

Spencer led Ashley and Gobbles over to the doorway and was relieved to find it unlocked. It turned out to be a rather abandoned looking custodial closet, judging by the rolls of ancient yellowed paper towels and dried out buckets of mops.

"In here," Spencer whispered. Together the girls pushed the cage into the small closet and crowded in behind it.

Spencer was just able to close the door behind them before the voices in the hallway became clear enough that there were likely within sight of where the girls had been with the turkey just moments earlier.

The voice became clearer and was paired with the clicking of at least two pairs of heels. "…and this of course is the service corridor of the first level leading to the kitchens, launders and Secret Service training facilities."

Spencer tensed. That voice definitely belonged to the President of the United States. One glance at Ashley confirmed it.

This was definitely not good.

What was even worse was that the president seemed to have stopped right in front of the closet where they were hiding to continue giving what sounded like a formal White House Tour.

As it turned out Gobbles was equally displeased with this unexpected turn of events. Apparently the sudden darkness of the supply closet was just one environmental change too many for a turkey who had experienced an understandably eventful day. Though thankfully the bird remained quiet, he did express his distaste by reaching his jiggly neck through the bars of his cage and proceeding to nip at the hem of Ashley's trousers.

The bird must had struck flesh at some point because Ashley barely muffled a shriek and darted forward out of the bird's reach and – because of the close quarters of the closet – right into Spencer's arms. Of their own accord, the Marine's hands reached out to steady Ashley as she huddled close against Spencer chest, eyes squeezed tight against the terror of the demon bird.

Apparently the president wasn't the only Davies with ornithophobic tendencies.

As if the universe decided that this situation as not already awkward enough, Spencer heard the distinct hurried cadence of someone running down the hallway toward them. She could feel Ashley's breath against her neck pick up its pace.

The new arrival suddenly slowed their running and skidded to a short stop – likely right in front of the president and whomever her guest was.

"Oh, mom, hi! Hello!" Kyla was struggling to catch her breath. She must have gotten caught up with Aiden and was hurrying to meet the rest of the group at the rendezvous point.

"Oh, Kyla dear!" President Davies' surprise was almost enough to cover the annoyance in her voice. "Whatever are you doing down here at this hour?"

"Oh, uh…" Kyla was clearly scrambling for an excuse. Spencer tensed, willing the girl to remember the cover story they had prepared for her if anyone questioned them. "I was just… hungry? I was coming down to the kitchen to see if I could sneak a little stuffing to hold me over until dinner."

In the dim light of the maintenance closet, Spencer watched as Ashley rolled her eyes at her sister. Up close, Spencer could see that there was none of the animosity that Ashley usually harbored against those on the receiving end of her eye rolls. Instead there was rather a sort of affectionate acknowledgement of her sister's inability to tell a convincing lie.

In that moment, Spencer realized how much Ashley really cared about her sister - how in so many ways her ridiculous antics tended to be for her younger sister's benefit. Even if Ashley would never admit it, Spencer wouldn't be surprised if the real reason Ashley put up with Christine and hid her sexuality from the public was not so that she could retain access to her family's money, but rather so she could stay and look after Kyla.

This of course would mean that this ridiculous scheme had nothing to do with a bird and everything to do with making her little sister happy. Ashley could pretend to be a bad-ass all she wanted – she was really a softy at heart.

Ashley managed to catch Spencer's eye and give her a co-conspiratory wink.

The Marine felt her heart gave a responding flutter.

It was in that moment that Spencer Carlin realized that she had somehow allow herself to fall for Ashley Davies, the First Daughter of the United States and the last person who should make Spencer's heart race the way it was.

This was so not good on so many levels.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you," Spencer dimly heard Kyla continue though the daze of her personal revelation. "I can see that you have guests… a-and cameras… but I was wondering if you happened to see Ashley around anywhere…?"

Spencer wasn't quite able to stop herself before she was holding onto Ashley just a little bit tighter.

President Davies gave an audible sigh. "I cannot be responsible for keeping track of that girl. Somehow it's easier to run a country…but I was just in the middle of giving Ms. Winfrey a Thanksgiving themed tour. We really must be moving on if we are to keep on schedule. Certainly nothing exciting in this corridor." And then, thankfully, her voice and heels began moving off further down the hallway.

"President Davies," the president's tour companion finally spoke, "Can you tell us more about what's it's like to live in such a historic home?" It was odd, that voice almost sounded familiar.

"Oh my god," Ashley breathed, her face lighting up like it was Christmas morning. "Is that Oprah?!"

"Shhh!" Spencer hissed, pressing her palm over Ashley's lips. Despite Ashley's responding glower, Spencer kept her hand firmly in place. She was trying to ignore the heat of Ashley's breath and lips against her fingers, but now that was pretty damn near impossible.

* * *

One turkey bite, two close calls and five minutes later, Ashley, Kyla and the two marines had loaded the increasingly agitated turkey into the trunk and had pilled themselves into the back seat of the First Daughters' Secret Service SUV.

No one spoke for a moment until the driver, Willy, finally broke the ice.

"Ms. Davies," he asked Ashley, "Is there a reason why there is a live turkey in the back of my car." Ah William – blunt as ever.

"Come on now Willy, I know Kyla missed out on the better half of the Davies genes, but you really shouldn't call her names."

"Ash!" Kyla squealed from beside her.

"You have tactfully avoided answering my question Ms. Davies." Willy's low baritone and New York accent always made Ashley feel like she was being driven around by a member of the Soprano family, "Sergeant Carlin, perhaps you care to explain?"

Carlin cracked a smile at him through the rear view mirror. "I wish that I could Agent Myers, but this defies all logic. Corporal Lewis and I are obliged to go where these ladies go, and so here we are."

Ashley scoffed, "As if you weren't in it from the beginning. I see how it is…"

Willy drummed his finger on the steering wheel. "And where exactly are we going with this large bird?" They were still parked in the White House underground garage.

"That is another excellent question Big Willy. I'm going to popcorn this one off to Kyla. Kyla: where does one take a presidentially pardoned turkey to live out the rest of his days in peace?"

Kyla hesitated, "… well I really hadn't thought that far ahead with this…" Ashley rolled her eyes. This was the perfect illustration of why Kyla was the least spontaneous person Ashley knew. The girl had no imagination.

It seemed like this one was up to Ashley. She thought for about a half a second before making up her mind.

"All right Willy: Hop on Connecticut Ave, I think I might know a place."

* * *

By the time Ashley finally sat down to her mother's formal White House Thanksgiving dinner early that evening, she was salivating like a Pavlov dog and ready to feast. She was secretly a little disappointed to be missing out of the key player of turkey in her Thanksgiving dinner, but the look on Kyla's face as she had watched Gobbles run to freedom this afternoon more than made up for it.

The things she did for that girl.

Christine, upon surveying the spread at the table when they sat down, looked more than a little displeased to notice the conspicuous absence of a nice, golden glistening turkey.

"Stephan," she asked through gritted teeth when she finally managed to wave the head White House Chef over to her chair. "Is there a reason why we are eating pot roast instead of turkey for Thanksgiving Dinner?"

Ashley suspected that the only reason she was keeping her voice controlled was because they were hosting Argentinian dignitaries for the meal.

"My sincerest apologies ma'am," Stephan replied, ringing his white hat anxiously between his hand.

That was an excuse – not an explanation. Had this man never worked with Christine Davies before? She was not going to accept that. Why did he look so surprised to see her death glare?

"It's just that… well… the turkey is missing in action ma'am." That hat of his was going to be unrecognizable by the end of this conversation. Ashley caught Kyla's eye and risked a cheeky grin.

"And pray tell, Stephan, how a 45 pound turkey goes missing on the grounds of what is supposed to be the most secure building in the country?" Christine asked in a whisper, drumming her fingers lightly against her wine glass.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but no one seems to know where it is and by the time we noticed it was missing, it was too late to go out to try to find another quality turkey on Thanksgiving Day and still get it cooked in time for dinner. It must be… misplaced." The poor guy was literally trembling in his boots.

Ashley might not have liked his burgers, but she felt a little bad that the chef was taking the heat for something that was essentially her fault. "I like the pot roast better myself," she interrupted. "Less clichéd." She stabbed her fork into a particularly large piece and held it up to take a very un-lady-like bite for emphasis.

"Turkey is not a cliché Ashley, it is an American tradition," Christine glowered.

"I like the pot roast too mother," Kyla offered, taking a bite of her own, "This is excellent! Very… moist!"

Everyone at the table hurriedly dug into their substitute main course, trying to sway the wrath of the president away from the poor exhausted chef who indeed had done quite an excellent job with the spread – lack of turkey aside.

As it turned out, Argentinians were big fans of red meat and were actually quite pleased with the turn of events with dinner.

If her mother actually got these Argentinians to sign to the trade agreement she was negotiating this week, Ashley was going to go ahead and give herself the credit for setting up an atmosphere of good will.

Not bad for a day's work.

* * *

Later that evening as Spencer moved to answer her apartment door, she wondered vaguely if she would ever open it to find anyone other than Ashley Davies standing on the other side.

Now she also had to wonder if her stomach would ever stop doing flip-flops whenever she anticipated being close to Ashley.

It had to, right?

She had spent the last few hours contemplating the new feelings she had discovered in the supply closet and had decided that it had to have been the result of a stressful situation.

Spencer also had spent the last few hours trying to ignore the small voice in the back of her head reminding her that she had been in hundreds of high-stress situations over the last three years – often in the presence of women that she worked closely with – and she had never developed remotely similar feelings for any of them.

That voice was less than helpful.

Sure enough when she opened the door it was Ashley, again in the company of her sister.

"Hello Ms. Davies, Ms. Davies. Back again I see."

"Well, we wanted to thank you for your help with the mission this afternoon," Kyla said, apparently using the term 'mission' in complete seriousness now.

"And to deal with that poor excuse of a Thanksgiving dinner you two have going on in there," Ashley added.

Each of them pulled a heaping plate of the White House's finest Thanksgiving dinner from behind their backs. Ashley handed hers to Spencer and Kyla gave hers to Chelsea who had jumped off the couch at the mention of good.

"This looks great Kyla, thanks!" Chelsea exclaimed.

"I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I just loaded it up with the stuff I liked and figured you'd survive," Ashley explained to Spencer, gesturing to the plate.

Spencer looked down to the food in her hands surprised to find that it contained only her Thanksgiving favorites and none of the dishes she hated.

Spencer convinced herself that it was a coincidence.

"Thank you," she gave Ashley a hesitant smile, "This was… you didn't have to do this."

Ashley shrugged but returned her smile. "I never do anything I don't want to, if I can help it."

They sort of stood there in the doorway staring at each other for a moment before Spencer heard herself say, "Chelsea and I were just sitting down to watch a Christmas Story – it's sort of a tradition of ours – did you maybe want to join us?"

Ashley looked over to Kyla for confirmation before nodding. "That'd be really nice."

The four girls made their way back into the apartment and over to the living room.

Spencer found Ashley settling in next to her on the couch as Chelsea hunted for and set-up the DVD.

"You know," Spencer said between bites of her green bean casserole. "I think I helped you commit a felony today."

Ashley scoffed. "There were no felonies of any kind. That turkey had a presidential pardon, so basically everything we did today had a presidential seal of approval."

"I'm not sure the President would agree to that interpretation of her national decree… or federal law."

"Look," Ashley pulled her legs underneath herself and turned to fully face Spencer. "_Technically_ the grounds were open - even if we did sort of sneak in the back way. And it's not like we _stole_ anything, we just – shifted national property from one place to another. In fact I'm going to go ahead and say that we just added to the national collection."

Spencer laughed. "Really. So you don't think anyone is going to have a problem with the fact that there is suddenly a turkey in the otter exhibit at the National Zoo?"

Ashley shrugged. "Well the otters seemed cool with it." Apparently that was enough to satisfy Ashley's conscious.

Spencer had to muse that even though it wasn't the Thanksgiving at home she had been missing for so long, she really couldn't complain with how the day had turned out.

* * *

**A/N: Whoops! Well that chapter took a little longer than I expected. Thanks for your continuing patience!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Ch 11. A/N: Let's check back in with the girls, shall we? (Just a warning, there's the slightest bit of gore in this one, so if that's not your cup of tea, you'll be able to tell when it's coming.)**

* * *

A shout startled Spencer awake. Before she quite knew what she was doing, she was reaching for a gun in a holster that she wasn't wearing. Her sudden movement caused Ashley to stir where she was resting on Spencer's lap.

Wait.

How had Ashley Davies ended up in her _lap_?

Once she caught sight of her surroundings, recognizing her own White House living room in the dim light of the muted television, Spencer realized that she, Chelsea, Kyla and Ashley must have fallen asleep during their Christmas Movie marathon. The root menu for Elf was playing on a silent loop.

"What's going on?" Ashley asked lazily without opening her eyes, snuggling further into Spencer's lap, which only made Spencer get suddenly a hundred degrees warmer.

A frustrated whimper drew Spencer's attention back to what had woken her up in the first place. Over in one of the recliners, Chelsea was thrashing around in her sleep, her fists clutching the blanket, eyes screwed tightly shut. "No!" Chelsea shouted, this time loudly enough to make Kyla stir in her position on the floor and encouraging Ashley to sit up and see what was wrong.

Recognizing that her best friend was caught in one of her infrequent nightmares, Spencer gently shifted Ashley off of her and moved to where Chelsea was sleeping.

"Is she okay?" Kyla asked, "Should we wake her up? I heard somewhere that was bad…"

Spencer didn't bother to reply. Chelsea needed to be woken up – the disorientation of waking was certain to be much easier to handle than whatever was plaguing her nightmares tonight. She reached down and griped Chelsea's clammy shoulders and gave her a firm shake.

"Chelsea," she said in her best officer's voice, "You need to wake up." In the past she'd found that Chelsea responded better to the commands of an authority figure when she was caught up in a nightmare – it made her responses more automatic and required her to think less. It was for the best.

Spencer sensed Kyla and Ashley move to stand behind her as she tried again, shaking Chelsea more firmly. "Corporal Lewis, wake up!"

Chelsea's eyes popped open in a flash and her entire body tensed up, ready for a fight, trying to resist the firm grip that Spencer used to keep her in place. There were beads of sweat collecting on her brow and her eyes rolled around, trying to separate the reality around her from the terror of her dream.

"Look at me," Spencer commanded gently, "What do you see around you?"

Chelsea finally met her steady gaze and struggled to keep her breathing under control. "A living room? Our apartment?"

Spencer nodded. "And what do you hear?"

Chelsea hesitated, closing her eyes a second to listen. "Nothing, just the buzzing of the television."

"That's right, and who's here with you?"

Her breathing was slowing now, and Spencer could feel her body relax. "You. Ashley. Kyla."

Spencer relaxed her grip and rubbed her friend's shoulders soothingly. "You good?"

"Yeah," Chelsea replied, only sounding half sure of herself, "I'm good."

Spencer stood back to give her some breathing room, and Chelsea rose from the recliner on shaky limbs.

"Bad dream?" Kyla asked hesitantly, as if she realized how much of an understatement that was.

Chelsea ran the back of her hand across her forehead, not really looking at any of them. "You could say that," she responded somewhat sheepishly, obviously embarrassed to have awoken from an incredibly personal moment to see them all staring at her. She caught Spencer's gaze, "I was back by Shaylah… that supply train…"

Spencer nodded her understanding. She fished into her pocked and pulled out her phone, quickly typing in the number she knew by heart. "Call him," she suggested, passing the phone to her friend.

Chelsea shook her head, but her hands betrayed her need as she accepted the phone. "It's late, I'm sure he's asleep…"

"He'd want you to call him Chelsea. He'll blame me if you don't, and you don't want me to get in trouble with the big man, do you?" She offered her friend a small smile and she was pleased to see it was returned.

"Okay," Chelsea agreed, taping the button that put the call through and making a silent retreat to her room. She shut the door securely behind her. The lack of resistance Chelsea offered to Spencer's suggestion confirmed her fears that Chelsea had just awoken from one of her worst nightmares yet.

"What was that?" Kyla asked, looking back and forth between Chelsea's closed door and Spencer.

Spencer shrugged, flopping back down onto the couch. A quick glance at the clock by the television revealed that it was nearly half passed three in the morning. "Nightmare."

Ashley sat back down next to her, and Kyla hesitantly planted herself back down in her spot on the carpet.

"What happened with the supply train by Shaylah?" Kyla pressed further. While Spencer was pleased to see that Kyla was concerned for her bodyguard and friend, she was unsure of how much Chelsea would want her to share.

She felt Ashley inch the slightest bit closer to her, offering her silent support at her hesitation.

"I can only tell you what I know, which isn't all that much because Chelsea doesn't like to talk about it." She figured that was a fair enough introduction. The truth was that Chelsea had told her all about the gory details, but it was better if she censored things a little for the Davies.

"You know that Chelsea and I served in the same squad over in Afghanistan?" Ashley and Kyla nodded. They both knew vague details of Chelsea and Spencer's military history. "Chelsea was one of my fire squad leaders. We were assigned to provide an escort for a supply train bringing food and medical supplies to an Army base camp not too far outside of Kabul. Chelsea's squad was forward, guarding the front of the train, mine was at the back."

Spencer took a breath, hesitant to bring the memory of that day into her thoughts, but seeing the looks of interest from the Davies, she pressed on. In some ways it seemed only fair – she and Chelsea knew so much about their lives, while they knew so little about the Marines in return.

"The tank at the front of the train hit an IED – a kind of landmine. The armor on the tank was shoddy, the whole thing just blew to pieces, killing everyone inside in an instant. There was a lot of shrapnel – and Chelsea's squad was just behind the explosion – out of the range of the physical blast, but not of the debris. A sheet of metal came flying out of nowhere, went straight through the windshield of the jeep Chelsea was in. She was in the passenger seat, the thing missed her by inches, but the driver next to her, a PFC by the name of Henries, he… he wasn't so lucky."

The girls were silent, hanging on to her every word. It was Ashley that broke the silence, asked the question. "What happened to him?"

Spencer had hoped to avoid the gory details, but they had asked, and part of Spencer needed to tell them. Americans wondered why Marines were coming home with PTSD, and fiscal conservatives accused them of wasting government resources on disability leave and rehabilitation. It just made her so mad sometimes. People who hadn't been through what she and Chelsea had been through, people who had never fought in combat - they could never truly understand what a soldier carried with them home from war.

Spencer found that she didn't really want to keep quiet, not when her best friend had to relive the trauma night after night just for making sure people back home could sleep soundly and safely in their beds.

She finished the story.

"Partial decapitation. The edge of the sheet caught him right in the mouth. Severed everything from his bottom jaw up from the rest of his body. Cut right through the seat too, killed one of the guys sitting in the back. Chelsea had to reach across him to grab the wheel, to make sure the Jeep didn't drive right into the burning remains of the tank, or hit another mine."

"Oh my god," Kyla whispered, looking a little green.

"That's so fucked up," Ashley agreed, looking quickly over to Chelsea's door. "Right next to her?"

Spencer nodded, "Like you sitting next to me." That was a scary thought, but like so many others, Spencer rushed to bury it. There was no way she would ever let anything happen to Ashley, not on her watch. Especially not now, when she was beginning to mean so much more to her than just a military duty.

They all took a moment to digest the story. Spencer was somewhat comforted to hear the soft mumblings of Chelsea's voice through her door. It was good that she was talking to someone who could help her.

"Who's the big man?" Ashley asked, drawing Spencer's attention back to her soft brown eyes.

"What?"

"The big man, the one who you said would be mad if she didn't call. He a general or something?"

Spencer laughed, "No nothing like that. The big man, as he likes to call himself, is my father." Ashley raised an eyebrow, prompting Spencer to continue. "He's a social worker – a counselor. He specializes in traumatic event counseling. He's been keeping an eye on us since we were deployed. He helps us keep everything straight and healthy up here," she tapped her forehead somewhat comically, trying to lighten the mood somewhat.

"Is she going to be okay?" Kyla asked, her concern evident in her voice.

Spencer frowned a little. "I think so. She's getting there. She's not alone, you know? We're all getting there. It's just going to take time."

Kyla evidently found this to be an acceptable answer. She stood and stretched, wrapping the blanket tightly around herself. "I think maybe then it's time for me and Ash to go back to our own place. It's late."

She started to make her way toward the door, pausing when she noticed that Ashley was not following.

"You coming?" she asked, her hand on the door knob.

"In a minute," Ashley promised.

"Is that what Afghanistan was really like?" Ashley asked when Kyla had closed the door behind her, turning sideways on the couch so look at Spencer fully. Spencer felt the weight behind her gaze.

"Sometimes," Spencer affirmed. She didn't like that Ashley seemed pained by the answer. She did want to fill her mind with terrible thoughts, but she would not lie to her either.

"How did you live like that – never knowing if one wrong step was going to blow your head off?"

Spencer shrugged. "I'm not really sure. When you are there, you just sort of deal with it. You dig out this little space in your mind where you bury all of the terrible, awful stuff and… and you figure you'll deal with it later when you have the luxury of sorting it all out."

"How are you still _you_, after living like that?" Ashley asked, disbelief evident in her voice.

"I _am_ me because of all that," Spencer corrected. "I'm not the same girl I was when I left home after high school. The experience is part of who I am, good and bad. And besides, if I hadn't been there, I would have never found my way here." She had to fight to keep her face straight after she realized what she had said.

She had just barely figured out how she felt and here she was practically shouting her feelings to the rooftops.

The two girls stared at one another, neither quite knowing how to follow that. Spencer braced herself for what she fully expected to be a taunt about her sappiness.

But what she actually got surprised her.

"Are you glad you're here?" Ashley asked sounding vulnerable. Before she let Spencer answer, she hurried on, "Because I am. I know I give you a lot of crap sometimes, and especially back when we first met, but I am thankful for what you do. For your service… and for always having my back."

All Spencer could do was smile. "There's no place else I'd rather be."

* * *

"My hand is going to fall off," Ashley groaned, trying to shake out the offending appendage as she made her way out of White-Gravenor Hall and into the brisk autumn afternoon.

"I think you'll survive," Carlin replied from where she walked beside her, hands stuffed into the pockets of her navy blue pea coat, shoulders raised to brace against the cold.

"You know what you lack Carlin? Empathy. While you were over there playing Angry Birds on your phone, having a grand old time, I was filling three blue books with useless facts about troubadours and minstrels. When the hell was that lecture anyway?"

Seriously, the question had come out of left field. The reason why Ashley had let her essay go on for so long was because she figured if she wrote enough words, some of them had to be right. Fake it 'til you make it - it seemed to work for Christine anyway.

"It was back in October." Carlin replied, "I seem to remember you drooling on your laptop. And I was reading security briefings – this is my work phone." As was usually the case when they were in public, Carlin was only half paying attention to her. Her eyes were carefully sweeping the quad, watching for threats.

There were definitely more people around campus than usual. Ashley always thought that finals week made Georgetown feel twice as big when all of the people who generally skipped class were compelled to come in and sit for their exams. She swore she'd never laid eyes on half of the people who had just showed up to take her medieval European music final.

"You were reading security briefings for _three hours_? Who writes those things, Tolstoy?"

The marine shrugged, thinking it over. "Lots of War. Little bit of Peace. Good number of Russians…"

Ashley laughed. "Anything I should be worried about?"

Spencer hesitated, "Maybe… but let me take care of the worrying – it's sort of my job. I won't let anything happen to you."

Ashley caught her eye and smiled. "I know."

Carlin smiled back, almost shyly, head tilted ever so slightly to the side. It was an unexpected gesture, and it made the cool morning feel just the slightest bit warmer. When Carlin looked at her like that, Ashley could almost pretend that maybe Spencer…

Her train of thought was abruptly cut off by a flash of green that caught her eye over Carlin's left shoulder.

She'd seen that hijab before. In fact she'd been pretty up close and personal with it _and_ its owner. "Nadia?"

Carlin frowned, not following her sudden change of focus, but Ashley didn't have time to explain.

"Nadia!" She shouted this time, taking off at a sprint across the quad to try and catch the girl before she lost sight of her. She felt Carlin following close on her heels, not letting her out of arm's reach.

The girl in question paused upon hearing her name, turning to try to see who was hailing her. When she caught sight of Ashley running her way, Nadia moved to turn away as if she hadn't seen her, but by that point Ashley had already grabbed a gentle hold of her shoulder.

"Nadia!" She wheezed, wincing at how over-excited and out-of-breath she sounded. Ashley Davies wasn't supposed to chase down ex-flames across the quad – it didn't quite fit with her image. She tried again, forcing herself to slow her breathing, and settled for what she thought was a decently sultry "Hey."

"Oh. Ashley. Hi." Nadia turned back to face her with more than a hint of resignation. If Ashley had been paying attention, she could have better prepared herself for the conversation that was to follow. But of course, as always, she found herself distracted by Nadia.

The girl was stunning – a 10.0 on the Richter scale. Flawless coffee complexion, striking hazel eyes, and God, there was just something about the way the delicate skin of her neck disappeared beneath her headscarf that made it impossible for Ashley to look away. Sexy incarnate.

"Can we talk for a minute?" Over to the side, Carlin (who wasn't the least bit out of breath from their mini-marathon across the quad, damn her) was eying Nadia's bodyguard. The big burly man was glaring back at her from what was easily two meters of altitude.

Nadia shrugged, carefully avoiding Ashley's eyes. "It would seem that we are talking now." Cute. But Ashley got the distinct impression that this time around, the girl wasn't just playing hard to get.

"It's weird that I haven't seen you around campus," Ashley began. "…Or maybe not, since you never returned any of my messages." And there had been a lot of them, more than Ashley's dignity could bear to stand the thought of. Enough that she had attempted to bury her feelings by jumping right back into a faceless sea of one night stands once she had processed the obvious rejection.

Nadia bit her lip and crossed her arms across her chest defensively. "That would be because I've been avoiding you Ashley."

"And that's what I was hoping to talk to you about." Ashley flashed her signature Davies grin. She wasn't going to let her get off that easy.

For all her attempts at standoffishness, apparently Nadia was not yet immune to the Davies charm. She hesitated, but finally nodded. She turned over to her bodyguard. "Mohammed, can you give us a second?"

The big man cut away from his glaring contest with Carlin long enough to give the ambassador's daughter a curt response in Arabic.

Nadia sighed, responding to him in English. "We're going to be a plain sight – just talking."

Mohammed huffed, but stalked a few meters away to lean against a tree and continue his glare-fest with Carlin. Carlin, for her part, looked the slightest bit triumphant about her superior position until Ashley told her, "You too Sarge."

"Ms. Davies, I don't think…"

Ashley cut her off, pleading ever so slightly with her eyes. "Please give me a little slack here Carlin." After a pause, the Marine nodded before casually moving to stand a comfortable distance away from Nadia's bodyguard. Ashley didn't miss how she rested her right hand on her hip in just the right way so that the Saudi bodyguard could clearly see the holster beneath her jacket.

As much as Ashley would have enjoyed watching the rest of David and Goliath's pissing contest, she needed some answers.

"So. You've been avoiding me since that night." They both knew what night she was talking about. It was a night that, aside from the unfortunate ending in her mother's office and subsequent radio silence from Nadia, Ashley considered one of the best of her life.

Nadia still didn't meet her questioning gaze. "I'd rather not think about that night Ashley." That hurt more than Ashley was willing to admit even to herself. She pressed on anyway.

"Well I can't help thinking about it," Ashley replied. She summoned up her courage. "It meant a lot to me."

Nadia closed her eyes for a moment, taking a breath. "Well it was a mistake for me."

Ashley felt like the wind was knocked out of her. She hadn't quite been prepared for that.

"That's not what you said – before, during _or_ after." She was trying to hard sound like she didn't care, like she had when her mother had questioned her about their relationship that night.

It wasn't was working.

Ashley tried for another tactic: honesty. "I thought… I thought we shared a lot with each other."

And they had. After meeting at a State dinner, and later bumping into one another again during the first week of classes, Ashley had felt like she had really connected with the Saudi Arabian freshman. Aside from the obvious physical attraction and subsequent thrill of the chase, Ashley had been drawn to Nadia because the two of them had much more in common than she ever would have imagined.

They shared a love of history and music, and they had both experienced the harsh demands of life as daughters of prominent conservative politicians, hiding who they really were. Above all, and somewhat in spite of herself, Ashley had found herself drawn to the Saudi's quiet beauty and poise.

Nadia did not respond, electing instead to shuffle the books in her arms.

Ashley pressed on. "I don't understand. You said… you made me feel…Is this about your family?" That was her most likely theory at least, and if it was true, at least it would hurt a little less. "Because I understand what you're afraid of, I really do – you've met my mother- but I thought that maybe we had something worth the risk."

"This is about _me_ Ashley. I… I'm not that kind of person. I strayed from my path. My family doesn't know and has nothing to do with this. I'm lucky Mohammed is so loyal, that he talked to me about his concerns first, rather than to my father." Nadia's calm exterior was breaking down word by word and Ashley could almost see the terror buried beneath.

"See, _I_ would argue that it's about _us_ Nadia." She reached out and barely grazed the soft skin of her cheek with the back of her knuckles. She felt Nadia lean the slightest bit into her touch before she took a lurching step back.

"Having sex doesn't mean that two people are connected." Nadia replied, dodging the issue (and Ashley's gaze) once again.

"It wasn't just the sex to me Nadia – I mean that was great – but it was the other stuff too…"God, Ashley wished that she could just say what she meant, what she was feeling, but it wasn't coming out right.

Ashley knew that she hadn't loved Nadia (whatever 'love' meant), but she had liked her - a lot. She was one of the few nice girls Ashley had ever been with, and no one else had understood about hiding herself like Nadia had. She's trusted Nadia was parts of herself that she usually kept closed off and tightly guarded.

"I didn't like the person I was when I was with you – I was out of control." Nadia was hugging her books against herself even more tightly than before, as if they could serve as a barrier between herself and Ashley.

"You said that you liked that about me – that you didn't have to pretend with me." Ashley was starting to get defensive now. She could see where this was going, and she didn't like it.

"I was misguided. I'm sorry, but I was just using you Ashley." Nadia didn't look like she was enjoying what she was saying, but she was saying it none the less. So much for the nice girls.

Ashley nodded, slowly, deliberately, letting it sink in.

"Using me."

She felt her nails biting into her palms as her hands curled into defensive fists.

"I was your little experiment."

She didn't realize how much her voice had risen. If she could have looked away from Nadia's wavering face, she might have noticed that the people walking past them were starting to slow to see what was going on – to gaze upon the burning wreckage that was Ashley's heart.

"I… I regret that your feelings…" Nadia seemed to recognize that this wasn't going to get her anywhere. She sighed heavily - defeated, resigned.

"I'm just… I'm not like you Ashley."

Why was this always happening to her?

Ashley refused to allow her burning eyes to let out anything but glare. "Well I think that you are lying to yourself."

Nadia swallowed thickly, nodding perhaps subconsciously. "Isn't it easier than lying to the world?"

There it was.

Ashley had to wonder if she was just some sort of magnet for people who only pretended to care.

"Well good luck with that Nadia. Really." Ashley turned on her heel, started walking and didn't look back. She didn't know where she was going, and she really didn't give a damn. People had the good sense to get the hell out of her way.

She didn't even notice that she was about to walk into oncoming traffic until a hand caught hold of the back of her hoodie and jerked her to a stop seconds before a truck barreled across the crosswalk she had just entered.

"What the hell is wrong with you! Didn't you hear me calling you?" Carlin exclaimed, gesturing to the glaring red 'Don't Walk' signal on the other side of the crossing. Her angry concern lasted only as long as it took her to notice the tears streaming down Ashley's face.

The marine's expression softened. She reached up to tuck one of Ashley's wild curls behind her ear before moving to wipe away a tear. "Do you want to talk about…?"

Ashley brushed her hand away cutting, off her question. "No. I don't."

Carlin backed away palms up in surrender, looking somewhat sheepish. "Okay." She turned around to press the button for the signal and the two of them waited for the traffic to stop in silence.

All Ashley wanted to do was to move, to run, but the damn signal wouldn't turn.

After a few moments, she whirled around and somewhat assailed the button herself, pressing it far harder and a few dozen times more than was necessary.

When she finally stilled, she felt Carlin moved to stand closer to her, brushing her shoulder to shoulder.

"You want me to go back there and kick her ass?"

Ashley let out a burst of air she hadn't realized she was holding in. She didn't trust herself to respond, but she did lean over and rest her suddenly weary head against Carlin's shoulder.

They stayed like that until the signal finally turned.

* * *

**A/N: As always, thanks for reading and for your encouragement.**


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